


Arcadia

by TeaHouseMoon



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, I’ve gone crazy again, M/M, Magical Realism, Midsommar AU, Mpreg, Possible Sexual Harassment, Sex, Slurs, You don’t have to have seen Midsommar to read this, further tags to be added, it’s only inspired by it, mild violence, not between Oliver and Elio!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2020-07-30 14:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 60,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: Oliver travels to a remote village in the North of Italy with the intention of writing a book about its customs.However, what and who he meets there will change his perspective completely, and push him to change himself and his life.***Completed.***





	1. Chapter 1. The Golden Boy

**Author's Note:**

> A few weeks ago I saw Midsommar. I loved it, and started thinking of writing a story for Elio and Oliver in a setting similar to that of the film. 
> 
> My story will NOT be a horror. Also, this is not an Omegaverse story - however, there’s Mpreg. As well as adventure, love, danger, and a happy ending (you know me.)
> 
> I hope you’re on board...

The day Oliver arrived, the sky was clear, the air bright. The sun shone, the rays reflecting on everything - the grass, the wooden houses, the animals, even the people - as if lending them warmth to shine of their own light.

Later, Oliver found out that it was almost always that bright, that sunny. That calm, eerily clear. As if in waiting. 

He’d found out about the Arcadia community while studying for his anthropology PhD.

It was an eco-system on its own, the books read, not like an isolated village, not really - the inhabitants were very aware of the outside world, the residents free to speak to outsiders, apparently. They were aware of the world, they just didn’t follow its rules. They had rules of their own, perfected by centuries of use, never broken, never changed. 

The community grew their own food. Reared their own animals - cows, sheep, pigs, hens. They made their own clothes where they could - but the weather was so mild, almost all year long, that they seldom had the need for different clothing. 

They built their houses out of wood and, sometimes, bricks. They lived in large constructions that looked like school halls inside - just one very spacious room with lots of single beds lined up inside. As Oliver would find out, only a small number of members of the community had their own, separate sleeping arrangements. 

When Oliver arrived, he was able to recognise quite a lot of what he learnt from the books in the actual village. 

He had no idea, at the time, that he was about to find out so much more, and really quickly. 

He was met by this man, called Orestes, who he’d been talking to while he planned his trip. Orestes had a big smile on his face, and hugged him as if Oliver were a long lost friend. He was wearing white; as they walked, and he led Oliver to the entrance to the village, other people walked by, stopped to glance curiously at the newcomer. They were all wearing white, too. 

“It’s not compulsory,” Orestes said, with a chuckle, referring to his attire. He had a grey-blonde beard, and light blue eyes, so transparent they were almost white. “See it like a fashion trend, perhaps.” 

Oliver chuckled in response, like he felt he was expected to. The white outfits did not surprise him; it was yet another interesting trait that made up that peculiar social ecosystem. 

He followed Orestes to the first of the makeshift buildings he would see - this one was smaller, shorter. Made up only of two rooms, it seemed. A hall, with a table and chairs, and a smaller room, from which voices could be heard. 

Orestes let him sit down, place his bag on the floor, and then sat down across from him. Three ladies, all wearing white, too, walked out of the adjoining room carrying food. 

“We all help out around here,” Orestes said, raising a glass of hot liquid and bringing it to his lips. Oliver did the same, took a sip; it tasted like chamomile tea. 

There was warm bread in front of them, and a selection of spreads - jam, olive pathe, honey, mustard, butter. Oliver kept looking around; he was too interested in his surroundings to eat. 

“When members turn seventeen, they have to choose how they want to contribute to the village. What work they want to do, in other words. Some become farmers, some shepherds; some clean, some cook.” Orestes took another sip of his drink. “But it’s not just manual labour. Some write our books. Some sing, some play music. Some learn body arts and then teach them to others.”

“Body arts?” Oliver asked. He had so many questions.

“I guess the world calls them sports. Here, we like things like horse riding, swimming, mostly. And we meditate.”

Oliver nodded. “What do kids do until they’re seventeen?”

“They live in the communal room, all together. They are not raised by their parents - we don’t believe in that. We believe in the whole village raising our children.”

Oliver nodded again. He’d heard of this. 

“Seventeen is also the start of child bearing age. It’s when some of our people decide to have children themselves, to create the new generation. For the continuation of the community, of course.”

Orestes reached out to grab a piece of bread. With a wooden knife, he halved it, then spread butter and honey on it. 

Oliver smiled. He felt still so privileged to be allowed to be here, to observe all this. 

“Honestly, I appreciate you letting me be here with you. It seems like everything is so well organised, so I’m grateful you’re welcoming an outsider into your group.”

“Ah, don’t mention it,” Orestes said. Raised his cup of chamomile tea as if to cheer. “The pleasure is ours. We’re happy to have such an acclaimed academic with us, and we hope you’ll write kindly and honestly about Arcadia. There are so many negative, incorrect accounts out there in the world, we think we really deserve to be portrayed truthfully.”

Oliver nodded. Took a breath. 

Yes, the rumours on the mouths of the rest of the country, of the world, about Arcadia weren’t kind. 

It was all the mystery around it. The fact that its inhabitants never left. The fact that they didn’t really accept new additions to their village, either. 

Oliver was invited because of his reputation - because he had studied, because he’d written books and papers, and he was respected. He’d had to go through several rounds of approvals - both from his alma mater and the council of Arcadia itself. But apparently, they had concluded this trip would be useful for both sides. 

Oliver certainly agreed. This would give him so much material to write his next book - the one, he hoped, that would bring him the recognition he’d been chasing. 

“You must be tired,” Orestes said then - and Oliver was brought back to the moment. He nodded. 

“Let me show you to your lodging. I will ask Anthea to bring you some food that’s more to your liking, shortly.”

Oliver chuckled as he stood. 

“Oh, no, it wasn’t the food. There’s just a lot to take in. And I’m, honestly, just excited to be here. Looking forward to starting my work.”

Orestes looked at him, and his icy eyes gleamed for a moment; but when Oliver returned his look, he was smiling again.

“We’re glad. Now, follow me. We hope your accommodation is to your liking.”

They walked out into the clearing. The ground was covered in gravel, and green grass surrounded it. Trees stood all around the village; like a protective fence. 

The sky was darkening, but still shone, the blueish clouds giving notes of grey to the air. 

Oliver looked around as they walked. 

The clearing was almost deserted. He could see people dotted here and there, could more or less make out what they were doing - cutting wood for the fire, painting the wall of one of the village buildings. Three girls walked by, long white dresses whispering, as they carried bunches of flowers. 

Nobody paid attention to the new arrival.

“They’ve all been told about you,” Orestes said. Clearly, Oliver’s thoughts must have been evident on his face. 

They all knew about him. Oliver took another breath. In any other circumstance, this would have unsettled him; but here, and now, he knew it was normal. He expected it. 

“That’s where your lodging is,” Orestes finally spoke again, after a minute or so of silence, pointing to a white building nearby. The other buildings were white, too, but this one was taller, and narrower. 

“It’s a lodging for one,” Orestes explained. At least, Oliver wasn’t going to be asked to share sleeping arrangements with people he didn’t know. 

Oliver released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He felt tired, all of a sudden; his trip to get here - plane first, from New York, then car and then foot to reach this remote village in the north of Italy - had been long, and only now Oliver felt all the exhaustion of the day. 

But just as he started looking forward to the rest, his gaze fell to a group of people walking past them. 

He wouldn’t have paid attention, they looked just like the others, white outfits and all; except for one boy, walking in the middle of them, the others alongside him as if in a procession. The boy - raven, curly hair, pale, pale skin, tall, and slender - wasn’t wearing white. He wore a light brown-ish shirt and trousers. When Oliver focused his eyes, past the reflection of the evening light coming from that infinite, cloudy grey sky, he noticed that the boy’s clothes were actually golden. 

He was the first of the villagers he’d seen wearing anything but white. The first, and the only one for now. 

Oliver realised he was staring only when Orestes spoke again, announcing that ‘here they were’, opening the door to Oliver’s house. Oliver blinked; tore his eyes from the group of people walking away. The golden boy had turned around; had looked at him too, for one, long moment. 

“Who - who is that?” Oliver asked, not moving from where he stood, in front of the door to his accommodation. 

Orestes didn’t glance to the group; he already knew who Oliver was talking about. 

“That’s Elio. Our Chosen One.”

Oliver frowned. 

“Chosen One?”

“Yes,” Orestes smiled. 

The sky had gone darker; that was their night. 

“It is late, now,” Orestes said. “I will let you rest. We can talk about this, and other things, tomorrow. Anthea, your assigned, will wake you up in the morning.” 

Oliver held his eyes on Orestes. Suddenly, he was very awake - very eager to ask questions, to know. But Orestes was already walking away. 

“Have a good sleep, Oliver.”

Oliver raised his hand, in goodbye. And then sighed. Opened his door - wooden, just like the rest of the house - noticed a bed, a table, a bench. There was a sink in the corner; Oliver hoped it had running water, wasn’t too hopeful. 

But no matter. 

He dropped onto the bed, his body crying out in exhaustion and craving sleep even while his mind carried on in hyperactivity. Oliver hid his face into his pillow - the bedding was perfectly adequate for him. 

He fell asleep soon enough, despite himself. 


	2. Chapter 2. The Chosen One

The next morning, Oliver woke to the faint sounds of life outside his hut.

He stretched in his bed. He’d had quite a good sleep, he realised, surprised. Usually, travelling and jet lag did not allow him to rest properly, at least for a few days after he landed. 

He blinked, recalling where he was, what had happened the day before. Orestes, his host, had mentioned someone called Anthea coming to wake him today, if Oliver remembered right. 

And as if reading his mind, the knock to his door came a few moments later. 

“Good morning,” a female voice called, faint, but cheery. “Are you awake, Oliver?”

Oliver managed to grunt a ‘yes’ - rubbing a hand down his face after, shaking his head to try and wake up properly - he didn’t want to be ungracious to his hosts so early in his stay. 

The door opened, and he watched as a lady walked in. Wearing white - and here Oliver remembered, the white clothing, everybody wore them - and with white flowers in her long, brown hair. She was pretty. 

“I am Anthea. Pleasure to meet you,” she said, her voice soft, smooth. She placed a cup on the table by the bed. “I brought you coffee. I’ve been told that you like it.”

Oliver looked up at her, nodded in thanks. The coffee smelled good. 

He didn’t remember ever mentioning to them that what he liked to drink in the morning - but perhaps he had, and had forgotten, somehow. 

“I would like to freshen up,” Oliver said, after the first few sips. “Is there a - “ and here he hesitated. Bathroom? Washroom? How would these people call the place one used to shower and clean up?

“We have a private room for you,” Anthea finished his sentence for him. She smiled, kindly. “We know that outsiders usually prefer not to share. I will give you the key, and you can use the room as you wish. It’s just for you.”

There wasn’t any heat in her words - outsiders was simply a way to describe those who weren’t part of the community. Oliver nodded, gave her a smile. 

Another thing to be relieved about. 

After washing up, Oliver came back to his lodging to find that Anthea had made his bed. There was a note on his table; an invitation to breakfast with Orestes. 

Oliver walked to the main hall gingerly, fully awake now, and eager to find answers to all of his questions. 

“Our people in Arcadia work until they are forty-five. After that, they look after the new generations, take part in council meetings, use time for their leisure, for another twenty years or so. We don’t like to exert our elders.”

Oliver nodded at Orestes’s explanation. He was sat at the table, much like the day before, except this time they were in the main hall, surrounded by villagers cleaning, working on this or that, carrying food and objects, or simply walking by. Now that Orestes had told him, Oliver could really see how young everybody looked. 

There was a spread of food in front of them - bread, fruit, cheese, vegetables. Nobody ate meat in Arcadia. 

Oliver ate something here and there, but mostly focussed on writing down on his notebook. 

“Each age lives in a different part of the village. Those who don’t have to work - those older than forty-five, as I said, usually spend the mornings with the children, or in leisure.”

“Do you have a time limit to have kids, too?” Oliver asked. 

“I wouldn’t say a time limit, per se,” Orestes corrected. “But no one has children beyond the age of twenty-seven.” There was a pause. “We have to work, after that, anyway.”

Oliver nodded again. He jotted a few notes down, looked at the words he’d written. 

It seemed so specific, so particular. Did the villagers stop having sex, at twenty-seven, too, is that what Orestes meant? Was it forbidden, since they couldn’t have kids past that age? 

It was an important point, from an anthropological point of view, but perhaps a little too early, too brazen to ask. 

“Tell me about the Chosen One,” Oliver asked instead. 

There was another moment of quiet. Orestes took a drink from his cup. Ginger tea, this time. 

“While we try not to maintain a hierarchy, in Arcadia, at least not amongst the children and the youth,” Orestes started, “Every few generations, a child is born with a gift. A gift that makes him special, precious. More important than the others.”

Oliver blinked. Stopped scribbling, to look at Orestes in the eye. 

“That child is the Chosen One. And we were lucky enough to have him, in one of our current younger generations.”

“Why is he the Chosen One?” Oliver pressed, curiosity seriously piqued. 

“He was born with the ability to bear children,” Orestes explained. He’d stopped eating and drinking, and was just focusing on their conversation. “He’s the only one, in his generation, and many more before him and possibly to come. And when that happens, in Arcadia, it means prosperity is at our doors. It means the future is bright. The Chosen One is revered, and his children will be blessed with health and beauty, and will hold a special place in the village. They will not have to work, they will be able to dedicate themselves to their leisure. Just like their mother.”

Oliver nodded. Breathed, thinking; then looked down at his notebook, wrote a few words. 

He’d never heard of the Chosen One, nor he’d heard of a male capable of bearing children - but the Arcadians’ reaction to having such a creature within the village was nothing out of the ordinary. It was the response most cultures around the world had, over the centuries, towards those they deemed special, unique. Almost magic. These people were considered lucky, a good omen, a gift from the Gods - it was a common trait in many cultures, it all checked out. For now. 

“Do you think I would be able to speak to this... to the Chosen one?”

Oliver felt a little embarrassed asking, using that name. The kid had a name, he was called Elio; but Orestes insisted in referring to him with the moniker the village had decided for him. 

All the same, Oliver was really curious to talk to him. 

But Orestes shook his head

“We don’t really allow outsiders to speak to our children, and the Chosen One especially, as you can imagine.”

“But I am not any outsider,” Oliver interjected, gently. “I’m here to write about Arcadia. I need to know about the village, and its people, if I am to report accurately and fairly.” 

He didn’t know what made him insist with such determination. He was fascinated by this figure in the village, this boy who looked no different than other kids his age and yet was dressed in gold, and treated like a most precious gem. 

Orestes seemed to consider his words for a moment. His teeth biting into the corner of his mouth, he looked at Oliver. 

“It would just be a brief conversation. Just like the one you and I are having right now,” Oliver said. And smiled. 

Orestes sighed. 

“Fine. But I need to get approval from the council, too. And it would only be for a few minutes, with myself present, of course.”

“Of course,” Oliver smiled. 

He had to wait a whole day before he could actually get to speak to Elio, Arcadia’s special child, the Chosen One. Oliver was actually expecting to have to wait longer, and so he was relieved when, the day after, Anthea came to collect him to take him to the Second Hall. 

“The Second Hall is where our older children stay,” the girl explained, as they walked side by side. She was wearing pink flowers in her hair, this time; her dress fluctuated in the breeze as she walked. “The Chosen One stays with them until he turns seventeen.”

Anthea asked him to sit on a bench in the main room. It was empty; the walls were painted, with images of deer and goats, trees and woods and rivers. It didn’t seem like this room was used for much, aside for sitting down and waiting to go somewhere else. 

Anthea left, and a moment later Orestes appeared. He was followed by another man, roughly his age; and, behind them, was Elio.

Oliver felt the urge to stand up - and he did - until Orestes gestured for him to sit back down. The kid sat on the bench across from him; his face didn’t betray any emotion, and Oliver felt a little foolish for having reacted the way he did. 

“I am - Oliver,” he said. Attempted a small smile, in lieu of a handshake. 

Elio looked young, possibly younger than his age - as both Orestes and Anthea had mentioned, he was soon to turn seventeen. 

He was slim, with thick, black curly hair, and dark eyebrows and eyelashes framing a pair of hazel eyes which were slightly slanted downwards. His mouth was defined and full; and red, standing out against the paleness of his skin. 

He was stunning. 

He didn’t reply to Oliver’s greeting, and so Oliver thought fast about what to say. 

“I wanted to speak to you for a few minutes, Elio, if I may,” he said, by way of introducing himself and why he was there. “I am writing about Arcadia-“

“He has been told,” Orestes interrupted. He sat on a different bench a few feet from them; his face was serious, seemingly solemn. 

Oliver shifted his gaze back to the boy. 

“Where did you come from?” 

It was Elio who asked a question first. Oliver blinked, surprised. 

“New York City.”

Elio nodded. 

“Is New York City a good place to live, or did you run away from it?”

The question surprised Oliver even more. He was certainly not expecting that. 

“No, I - I like living there. I didn’t run away,” he answered, feeling somewhat stupid. 

“Are you married, Oliver?”

Another question. 

“No, I’m not,” Oliver said. 

“Elio,” came Orestes’s voice. And Oliver watched, as Elio bit the inside of his lower lip, his eyebrows knitted in thought. He seemed annoyed at the reprimand, but Orestes paid no attention. 

“Oliver, if you may. We only have a few minutes,” the man said.

Oliver nodded; but, truth be told, he could not remember what questions he’d planned to ask. 

He was so taken aback by the kid sitting across from him. By his curiosity, by his interest in Oliver; whether that came from boredom, rather than real willingness to know about him, Oliver still hadn’t expected it. There was something about Elio; something that bubbled under the surface. Something Oliver wanted to find out. 

“Tell me - tell me more about your gift, Elio,” he asked. Feeling, right then, like the worst interviewer on earth. 

“I can bear children. Like the women,” Elio said simply. His eyes were still looking straight into Oliver’s; he said nothing more. 

“And are you looking forward to taking your place in Arcadia, Elio?” Oliver let the kid’s name roll off his tongue. He didn’t know why, but he liked repeating it. Perhaps because it made him feel a little more connected to him. 

For a moment, Elio looked down; and then, when he looked back up into Oliver’s eyes, his own were steely. 

“Oh, yes. I’m looking forward to my duty. To being made into something I didn’t choose.”

“Elio,” Orestes called. Hard. 

The boy turned towards him, his chin held high. Defiant; then back towards Oliver. 

“I don’t have much to say to you, Oliver, I’m afraid. I’m just awaiting my fate, seeing what’s going to be decided for me. Perhaps you should write this in your book.”

“We’re done, now,” Orestes said, standing up. He looked to the other man, who’d been standing by the door, silent. And then, Orestes spoke again, his voice more controlled now. “We’ve run out of time. And you must forgive Elio, Oliver. Sometimes, he refuses to grow up.”

Oliver watched Orestes as he nudged Elio to stand, too, and the other man led the boy outside, walking behind him. 

Before disappearing beyond the door, Elio turned to look at him again. His eyes wide, huge pools of hazel. They were hard, but there was something else in there; Oliver swallowed, frowning. His heart beat fast. 

“I know that wasn’t perhaps too useful,” Orestes said once Elio and the man had left. He gave a chuckle. “But if you want to come with me, the elders can give you all the informations you need about our great traditions.”

Oliver blinked, trying to pull himself together after his encounter with Elio. 

His mind was in overdrive. He nodded at Orestes, but really, he was already thinking of how to find out more about Elio. 

How to speak to him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments to the first chapter! Please do keep telling me what you think! Xx


	3. Chapter 3. Marzia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to say that you don’t need to have seen Midsommar for this... I’ve only used the sort of ‘setting’ for this story. Everything else - world building and other characters - I have made up! :)

For the next two days, Oliver didn’t stop thinking about that kid. 

He replayed their conversation in his head, trying, somehow, to understand more, the more he reflected on it. 

Elio had been unimpressed. Hadn’t let him ask questions, but rather he’d asked them himself, and when Oliver had made an attempt at finding out his thoughts, Elio had been short, rebellious. Defiant. As much as Orestes had tried to make it sound like a normal occurrence, as if nothing had happened, as if that were just a kid’s tantrum, it was clear something was going on. And now, Oliver was set on finding out exactly what.

He needed to speak to Elio again, but he didn’t know how. The few times Oliver had seen him, after their encounter, he was always accompanied by someone, never on his own. Oliver didn’t really want to ask Orestes for more time with the boy - he had a feeling his request would he declined. 

And so, he kept thinking, for the next two days, while he was being led to visit the different sections of the village - the First Hall, the Kitchen, the Celebration Hall; until he saw something that gave him an idea. 

On the third day, as he drank his black coffee standing just outside the Main Hall, he saw Elio walking past, in the field across from him. There was a girl walking next to him - slim, petite, dark hair, wearing white just like the others. Both she and Elio were wearing white flowers in their hair - looked like hibiscus, or periwinkle perhaps, Oliver couldn’t be sure - and when one of them went misplaced in Elio’s hair, almost falling off his curls, the girl stepped up and secured it back into place. 

They seemed friendly with each other - Elio’s features weren’t contracted into an unhappy expression as he walked with her, and the girl actually chuckled. 

Oliver finished his coffee, and decided he would try and speak to the girl. 

He found her in the Main Hall at lunch time, sitting on her own, reading a book. 

Oliver sat across from her, with his bowl of food - cooked radishes and fennel, it tasted better than it looked - and was thinking of what to say to strike up a conversation, when the girl actually spoke to him first. 

“You’re the Outsider, Oliver. Aren’t you?” She asked, her large brown eyes wide, and a smile splitting her face. 

“Yes, I am.”

“My name is Marzia,” the girl didn’t hesitate in introducing herself. She had a soft French accent. Oliver decided he liked her. 

“How are you doing, Marzia.”

“I’m okay. Reading this book, now - it was written by one of our founders. It’s about his life, and apparently he raised six wolf cubs on his own on this mountain.”

Oliver nodded, amused. “Impressive.”

“It is. But how are you? How are you liking Arcadia?”

“It’s quite - peculiar,” Oliver started - then remembered that just because he liked Marzia, it didn’t mean he could open himself up like that just yet. He was a guest, after all. “It’s good. Everybody is very welcoming.”

“Great,” Marzia said. And then: “Do you like Anthea?”

“Anthea?” Oliver replied, stupidly. 

“Yes. Your Assigned.”

Oliver frowned for a second. Anthea was good, she was a good assistant, helper, maid - whatever she was meant to be. 

“She’s fine.”

Marzia nodded, and smiled again. 

“Ah. I saw pink flowers in her hair. Then maybe, she’ll wear purple. Then maybe red!”

Oliver frowned again. He was confused. 

“I don’t follow,” he said, honestly. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Marzia shook her head, her mane of dark hair following the movement like waves. “Did you want to ask me anything?”

And Oliver blinked, trying to think on his feet.

“Yes. I was wondering if you could tell me more about what you do? For my research, you know.” 

He hoped he’d been convincing enough. 

But Marzia didn’t seem perturbed. 

“I am a helper,” she explained. “Basically, what Anthea used to be. There’s a few of us amongst my age, and then there’s a few of Assigned like Anthea amongst the older ones. I am basically - learning.”

“Learning?”

Marzia nodded.

“Yes. For when I’ll be an Assigned myself. For now, because I’m still sixteen, I can just learn.” She paused for a moment, smiled again. “It’s fun, because I get to be Elio’s helper. He’s my best friend.”

Bingo; just where Oliver hoped their conversation would go. 

“He’s the Chosen One, right?” he asked, to stall a little. And then, when Marzia nodded: “I wish I could speak to him, too. We only had a few minutes yesterday.”

Marzia bit her lower lip.

“Elio was talking to me about you. That’s how I know you.”

“Was he?”

“Yes,” the girl replied. Her large eyes darted around the room. Oliver waited for her to tell him why, what had Elio told her about him? 

But Marzia didn’t volunteer any more information. She just brought a cup of something to her lips - it smelled spicy; like liquorice - and kept quiet. 

“Do you think I could speak to Elio again, Marzia?” Oliver asked then. 

It was his only chance; his only connection to Elio, at least for the moment. 

Marzia took a breath, bit her lip again, looking at Oliver in the eyes. 

“You’re asking me because They won’t let you speak to him, aren’t you?”

She was clever. It seemed like she knew more than Oliver had initially thought. 

And Oliver didn’t know what to say. It was the truth - Orestes and the others had given him his chance to talk to the Chosen One, they weren’t going to allow it again, from what it seemed. But would admitting it mean that Marzia, too, was going to make Elio off limits to Oliver?

“I will ask him,” Marzia said, then, and it made Oliver blink, in surprise. “I will ask Elio. Tonight, come to the Second Hall, by the North Entrance. I will meet you there.”

She’d whispered, and then she closed her book, stood, and gave Oliver one last smile as she walked away. 

And left Oliver recalling her words, as if he hadn’t been able to understand them properly. 

Left him wondering what he himself was doing. Why was he so into this? Why was he, only four days into his stay, already going against the wishes of his hosts?

But something told him he needed to do this. There was nothing wrong in talking to Elio again. He was still a person; he was still a kid, with a story, like many Oliver met in his travels.

And Oliver needed to know what his story was. 


	4. Chapter 4. The Lake

Keeping her promise, Marzia was at their meeting place that night, just as the sky had gone past its shade of silvery-grey and transitioned into a dark blue, a sort of indigo. Oliver had thought that the absence of artificial light would make the night sky appear at its darkest, but actually, as he found out, it just made the stars and their shine more evident and bright. 

Marzia gave him a little smile. She was wearing a white dress, as usual, but there were no flowers in her hair this time. She led Oliver through a short path which sneaked in between tall patches of trees; when Oliver saw Elio, standing by a small lake in the clearing, the boy also wasn’t wearing any flowers. 

He wasn’t wearing his gold clothing, either, but a light outfit of blue pants and a white shirt. He looked smaller; younger. 

“It’s night time, we don’t have to wear our clothes when we’re inside,” Marzia explained. “We do if we go out. But Elio doesn’t listen.”

Oliver smiled at her, at Elio’s rebellious streak that he had seen so clearly the other day, and that kept coming back.

Elio stood by the shore of the small lake; his gaze down, to the water, as if in thought. 

Suddenly, Oliver realised he didn’t know how to approach him, what to say. And Marzia, once again, came to the rescue. 

“I told him you want to talk some more, because you were interrupted the other day,” she said. “But we only have a few minutes. We aren’t allowed out after dark, we shouldn’t be here - but Elio and I sneak out often.”

Oliver swallowed. Yet another mention of strict rules. He wondered what the consequences were, should the kids be found out

“Elio? Oliver is here,” Marzia called out gently. 

And Elio might have not been wearing his usual, golden uniform, but he carried himself just the same as if he were - turned around slowly, chin up, standing straight and looking at Oliver right in the eyes. 

And Oliver realised he didn’t know how he was supposed to address him. 

“Hi, Elio,” he said simply. Behind him, he heard the gentle shuffling of bare feet on the grass - Marzia stepping away. 

“How is your research coming along, Outsider?”

Elio’s voice was quiet. His words clashed together in Oliver’s ears - what seemed like genuine interest in his work, followed without ado by the reference to Oliver’s status in the village.

Oliver tried to find a good answer to that, but Elio spoke again before he could. 

“Assume that’s why you wanted to speak to me.”

For his research. But was it? Was that the real reason Oliver had wanted to see a Elio again?

“Actually, I was just hoping to talk to you. No agenda.” And then, because Elio tilted his head in confusion, “we were interrupted, the other day. And I liked talking to you. I think you’re interesting.”

Oliver didn’t know where his boldness came from. He was still addressing the Chosen One of Arcadia, after all, arguably the most important member of the community; and yet, something made him brave - something, a connection, made him feel as if he could be.

Elio didn’t reply for a few moments. He stood still, quite a few feet away from Oliver - Oliver couldn’t really see his face properly. 

“I come here almost every night,” the boy, finally, spoke again. He looked away from Oliver, down to the trickling water behind him. “I come here to read. I wish I had more books.”

Oliver took a step closer to him. 

“What do you like to read?” 

Such a strange question, to ask somebody he didn’t really know. 

Elio looked back up, and his eyebrows were knitted in thought. 

“We don’t have many books, around here. Most of those we have are about Arcadia. The founders. All stuff we’ve been taught about and which we’re bored sick of.”

Elio’s answer made Oliver chuckle. He wished he could see Elio’s face better - look at him more closely. He felt like he was speaking with a ghost, a shadowy entity with a sharp mouth and youthful eyes.

“Tell me what you do. With your day,” Oliver asked. There was so much he wanted to know about Elio; he didn’t even know where to start. 

“Why? My days are nothing remarkable,” the boy replied. He looked back down, at his feet - and Oliver wished he could see his mouth better. 

He took another step towards him. 

“But you’re the Chosen One. How can your days be unremarkable?”

It was the wrong thing to say, but Oliver noticed too late, only when he saw Elio tense up, his jaw going stiff. 

“You wouldn’t want to exchange your life for mine.”

Elio’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, as he looked straight into Oliver’s own eyes. 

Oliver took a breath; frowned, himself. 

“Why do you say this?” he asked, quietly. 

And this time, it was Elio who took a step towards him. There was still some distance between them, of course, but now Elio was much closer, and when he looked back up at him, Oliver was able to see his face way more clearly. 

That’s when he saw the bruise on Elio’s cheek, right under his left eye. A dark colour, against the paleness of his skin. 

“What - what happened?” Oliver shook his head; looking at Elio’s injured skin, at his swollen lip, uncomprehending.

Elio’s eyes were still steely, as he stared at Oliver. 

“In a week, it’ll be my seventeenth birthday,” he announced. And then, more bitterly: “how lucky for you to be here. You’ll get to see the ceremony - and then perhaps you’ll even see them giving me to their favourite.”

Oliver shook his head. He felt like he couldn’t keep up. The ceremony? The favourite?

“Their favourite?” he asked. 

“Yes. The man they’ve chosen for me to have children with.”

Oliver took a breath, frowned, still. “I don’t understand.”

He was ready to ask Elio to explain everything again, from the beginning. He was ready to admit he was a fool, if he were meant to know all that already. And perhaps, he was a fool indeed, since he’d been there for four days and he’d managed to miss something like this.

But instead, he kept quiet. Elio’s eyes, wide, a mix of greens and hazels and framed by thick pitch black eyelashes, were hard, looking up at Oliver, the strength in them clashing with the fear that the bruise on his face spoke of instead. 

“Of course you don’t understand,” Elio said simply. 

He sighed, looking back down, to the ground, to his bare feet in it. 

And Oliver wanted to say something, desperately - but what? He felt like he knew nothing, absolutely nothing. How could he even know what to say? 

“Who did this to you, Elio?” Oliver tried. 

Elio held his eyes. 

“Have a pleasant night, Oliver,” he said. Quietly. It was the first time he addressed Oliver by his actual name. 

And Oliver followed him with his eyes, as the boy walked past him, towards Marzia, who had reappeared and now reached out a hand to lead Elio away, back to their lodging, only turning to give Oliver a look as a goodbye. 


	5. Chapter 5. New York

Marzia was sitting in the Main Hall, the next morning, her trusty book on her knees and her tea ignored, and Oliver rushed his step to sit across from her at the table. 

“What happened to Elio?” he whispered, looking at the girl until she raised her eyes from the pages and returned his look. 

She didn’t pretend not to have understood. 

“The Elders don’t like it when we disrespect the community. Especially in front of Outsiders.” 

She was whispering, too, but her words seemed somehow mechanic. Pre-prepared. 

Oliver did not have to ask when that happened. The day he first spoke to Elio, when Orestes was there. 

“But Elio isn’t scared of them,” Marzia added, her voice regaining its usual playfulness then. 

Oliver whispered again. 

“It doesn’t mean it’s okay for - for Elio to be hit.”

Marzia just looked at him, the dark pools of her eyes unspeaking. 

“I want to know more about this Favourite,” Oliver said. 

“Is this for your research?”

“No,” Oliver lowered his voice even more. “I just - want to know.”

The whole situation with Elio, what Oliver had discovered, had kept him up the night before. Something really strange was going on, and Oliver felt lost, but at the same time like he was slowly, very slowly, putting the pieces of the puzzle together, discovering more and more about Arcadia - and a lot of what he was unearthing was unsettling. 

Elio was just a kid - he could be lying. It could just be a big game for him and Marzia. 

But somehow, Oliver didn’t think that was the case. 

“Oliver, I don’t - I don’t know much,” Marzia started. More people were walking into the Hall, Second and Third Age villagers arriving for breakfast before their day began - and it was making the girl obviously nervous. 

“I don’t know anything,” she said, in the end.

“Then I need to speak to Elio again,” Oliver whispered. Marzia was no longer looking at him, instead her eyes were locked on the pages of the book she had reopened on her knees. 

“You can’t. Not today, and not tomorrow. It’s his Coming of Age soon and he needs to prepare. There’s so many things to do.”

She spoke quickly, this time, and at the end she looked at Oliver, her large eyes strangely calm, in contrast with the agitation in her voice. 

“He needs to be perfect, and I need to help him. So, I have to go.”

She gave him a small smile, a goodbye gesture, and stood. The rays of sun that were filtering through the wooden roof of the hall touched her dark hair - the white flowers there, in place, fresh and glowing. 

Oliver nodded; and watched the girl walk away, out of the room. 

“I heard it’s the Chosen One’s Coming of Age, soon?” Oliver asked, trying to sound casual, as he walked with Orestes later on, during one of their daily conversations in aid of Oliver’s research. 

“Ah, yes. I’m glad you mentioned that. It’s a big event,” Orestes nodded, smiling. 

Oliver made himself smile back. 

“Our Chosen One is finally turning seventeen in just six days. That’s a cause for much celebration for us, and for him.”

“What happens in this celebration?” Oliver pushed gently. 

“You folks on the other side have birthdays, is that correct? That’s probably the closest way for you to understand. But our celebration lasts three days, and the whole village takes part. The Chosen One is given his crown. It’s a sort of cross between a birthday and a wedding, as you would have them on the other side.”

“His crown?”

“Yes. A flower crown, of course, which he’ll wear for a week and then will be replaced with one of gold leaf. We are very lucky with Elio - he’s beautiful, and the gold will look striking against the colour of his hair.”

Oliver nodded. Cleared his throat, for a moment. 

“Is Elio - looking forward to his celebration, then?”

The question made Orestes slow down. Oliver waited for him, and the older man sighed, raised his icy blue eyes on him again. He wasn’t stupid. 

“Oliver, I know you saw Elio in one of his rebellious moments. The boy is spirited, always has been. It’s a sign of intelligence - it’s good. But he also tends to give the wrong impression when he acts out that way.”

“And what’s the right impression, then?”

“That he’s excited for his Coming of Age just as much as we are. That he knows how important he is for the community and he’s been waiting for this all his life. Don’t let a little tantrum fool you, Oliver.”

Oliver wanted to say that it was weird, the way Orestes was talking about Elio. If Elio was so important to them, why was Orestes not defending him, defending his behaviour? 

And what was behind this celebration, anyway?

“The Coming of Age is a way for the village to show their love and adoration to the Chosen One. To show how happy they are for his presence,” Orestes said as if he read Oliver’s mind. “The Chosen One is looked after and pampered. He will want for nothing. And trust me, this is true for Elio even now. He’s very spoiled,” he explained. And added, after a beat: “As he should be.”

And that was how Oliver’s conversation with Orestes had gone on the subject, and then another Elder had joined - Sysiphos, the council chief - and more discussions and explanations on the village’s government had started. 

Oliver had dutifully listened, taken notes here and there - but his thoughts had remained on Elio. 

He had nothing to do that evening and somehow, he found himself wandering towards the Second Age Hall, like he had done the previous night. He followed the path into the clearing amongst the trees, with the aim to perhaps stop by the lake, and spend some time there, thinking. Secretly, he did hope Elio would be there; but he was still surprised when he saw the boy, sitting on the shore, on his own. 

He was wearing grey shorts and a dark shirt, and he was barefoot, his toes skimming the water gently. He was looking into the lake, deep in thought. There were no flowers in his hair. 

“Elio?” Oliver called softly, so as to not startle him. 

Elio turned around, and blinked. Pulled his legs up against his chest. 

“Why are you here?” he asked, quietly. 

“I don’t know. Something was guiding me,” Oliver replied, offered a smile - but Elio frowned. “I was hoping to find out how you were doing,” Oliver said then. 

It was the truth on both counts. 

“I’m fine,” Elio replied. He sounded almost bored. He looked back out at the lake, relaxing one of his long legs out on the shore, toes touching the water.

Oliver cleared his throat. He took a few steps towards Elio. Then, slowly, he sat down, leaving some distance between them. 

“I spoke to Orestes today,” he started, keeping his voice low, and calm.

And yet Elio startled anyway, turned towards him with wide eyes. It was the first time Oliver had seen such a reaction from him. 

“Did you tell him that you saw me last night??”

“No, no,” Oliver rushed to reassure. “I just wanted to know about the Coming of Age ceremony. For my research.”

Elio’s eyes, still wide, blinked. The kid was so expressive - his whole range of emotions showing through his features. Oliver could almost feel his quickened heart beat. 

“Why are you scared, Elio?” Oliver enquired gently. 

“I’m not scared.” Elio’s voice was hard. He turned back around, towards the lake. “And I don’t want to be interviewed right now.”

Oliver nodded slowly. “I know. I just wanted to talk to you. Not for my research.”

Elio didn’t move. Did not respond. He still looked down at the lake, his long, dark lashes stark against his cheekbones, a fan of ebony on his skin. His lips were pursed together in a pout. 

“Tell me about your world. About New York,” Elio whispered. He turned to Oliver, his hazel eyes dark in the night. 

It was Oliver’s turn to look down at the lake, the water stalling, tranquil, the breeze of the night creating shallow waves. 

“It’s very busy. Lively. Full of people and noise,” Oliver started, speaking as if he was recounting a fairly tale, his voice soft and dreamy. “Everybody is always running somewhere, the trains are always packed. The streets are full of lights, of all colours. The buildings are tall, and there’s quite a few neighbourhoods. Times Square is the center of it all.”

He looked up at Elio. The boy’s eyes were once again cast downward; his eyelashes still soft on his cheeks. He was listening. 

“The first time I went to New York, I thought it wasn’t real. I thought it existed only in the movies. With all the good, and all the bad.”

Elio blinked, and then spoke, his eyes still on the water. 

“I’ve only seen a movie once. When we travelled to the city, years ago.” 

Oliver looked up at his profile. “Maybe you can come to New York. You can go to the movies again. There’s a few movie theatres in Manhattan - a couple are my favorites. With a big screen.”

Elio’s mouth stretched into a small smile. 

Oliver wished the boy would turn to look at him, so that he could see his eyes. But Elio only looked down, at the shore, at his hand that played with a round pebble, absentmindedly. 

And then there was a noise from the village, and Elio’s profile tensed up again. His features regained the neutral expression he wore usually. He let go of the pebble, pulled his long legs up against his chest, and stood. The spell was broken. 

“Don’t tell anyone you saw me. Don’t tell anyone I come here,” Elio whispered, with urgency in his voice. His eyes were wide again, and commanding, in harsh contrast with his youthful face. 

“I won’t,” Oliver breathed. 

Elio hesitated for a moment. His face relaxed, in a tiny, almost imperceptible way. 

And then he walked away, bare feet quiet on the grass, quick as he disappeared into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments!! Keep them coming xx


	6. Chapter 6. The Library

Elio never had breakfast with everyone else in the Main Hall. 

Oliver had never seen him before ten, eleven in the morning so far - and even then, he’d only seen him walking by, always with Marzia, most of the times accompanied by other young members of the community. 

Today, he saw him, just like all the other times - wearing his golden attire, white flowers in his curls. Marzia was wearing white, too. 

From his seat at the table, in the Main Hall, Oliver followed him with his eyes for as long as he could. Until Elio disappeared outside the building with his cohort in tow. 

Then Oliver took one more sip from his cup of coffee. Looked to his side, at Anthea who was sitting next to him, talking to the girl across from her. She’d insisted in accompanying him to breakfast this morning. She was wearing white, but the flowers in her hair were darker, now, almost violet. 

“Orestes is at the Council for most of the day, but he wanted me to let you know that he’d love to show you the library, tonight,” Anthea told him, smiling. 

“Why tonight?” Oliver asked, finishing up his food. 

“Oh,” Anthea frowned. “Sorry, I should have asked if that was fine for you. Perhaps you’re feeling tired today, and want to go to bed earlier?”

Oliver shook his head. She knew his timetable really well - she was always by the main door to his lodging, always ready to help with anything. His Assigned, indeed. 

“No, no it’s fine,” Oliver rushed to reassure. “I was just wondering.”

The smile returned to Anthea’s face instantly. 

“Orestes will let you know why it has to be tonight. I think you will find it interesting,” she nodded, pleased. “In the meantime, today, I can be with you. I can show you whatever you want, here in Arcadia. Do whatever you want to do.” 

Her tone was so chirpy, so upbeat. The Arcadians really cared about being hospitable, Oliver thought - this girl had not left his side for almost all of his waking moments since his arrival. 

Almost all. She didn’t know he’d been to see Elio, at night. 

Oliver sighed. Thought about Elio. Perhaps he was going to see him tonight, somewhere. 

He nodded to Anthea, and when she smiled back, even wider, Oliver looked down, at his notebook, closed on the table but full of his ideas about Arcadia and about what was going on. 

“I hope you had a nice day,” Orestes said that night, when they met, just outside Oliver’s lodging. “I do apologise that I couldn’t spend time with you on this occasion.”

“That’s alright, you’re not - you’re not my minder,” Oliver said, chuckled to make his sentence lighter. “Anthea was very kind and showed me around some more.”

“Ah, Anthea,” Orestes nodded. “She’s excellent, isn’t she.”

“Sure.” Oliver gave him a small smile. He wanted to move past the small talk - where were they going, and what did Orestes have to show him?

“We know that you like literature, and that you write books. We thought you’d like to see our Library,” Orestes said, motioning for Oliver to follow him as he started walking towards the centre of the village, where a tall, brick and wood - built building stood. 

“It’s very ancient - goes all the way back to Arcadia’s foundation,” he continued. “Most of our books are handwritten, and we keep a copy of every book written in Arcadia within our Library.”

It was interesting, Oliver could not deny it. Inside, the building was narrow, dark save for the moonlight coming from windows in the ceiling. Every nook and cranny of the walls was filled with books. 

“I wanted you to meet our Chief Librarian, Cesar.” Orestes pointed to the man who walked in then. Oliver turned towards him, smiled politely. 

“Cesar looks after the Library. Without him, and his intelligence and dedication, our new generations would be bereft of Arcadia’s culture and wisdom.” 

“Too kind,” Cesar said, in response. He was older - not as old as Orestes, but definitely older than forty-five. The Library must be one of his leisure activities, going by the rules of Arcadia. 

“It’s really a pleasure to meet you, Oliver,” Cesar said then. “If you have any questions, please do ask. I’ll be happy to answer.” 

Oliver raised his eyebrows. 

“Yes, I guess I have questions. The first is, I know Orestes wanted me to visit the Library at night. Is there a particular reason?”

“Ah, yes,” Cesar nodded, solemnly. “It’s because of the Moon.”

“The Moon?”

“Yes. We are in the Full Moon phase, and the rays strike through the ceiling, sending messages to us. This, for example, is to be the year of Astrology.”

Cesar pointed to the floor, to a drawing on the ground in black ink. It was basically unreadable in the dark of the room, except for the section touched by the light coming from the ceiling. The letters were a different alphabet - Arcadia’s own, which was ancient, and no longer used, but which the Chief Librarian was obviously able to read. 

Orestes spoke again. 

“Cesar is extremely intelligent and knowledgeable. The only person worthy of looking after our illustrious Library of books. The only person worthy of passing the knowledge onto the next generations.”

Oliver looked at Cesar. He was of average height, average build. His hair was greying already. 

Oliver wondered if this man spent his whole life locked in that room, reading and re-writing books about Arcadia’s founding and historical facts that were, most likely, no more than hearsay and legends. Orestes had seemed very eager for Oliver to meet him, and that was peculiar. Oliver wondered why. 

“This was interesting, thank you,” he said, to appease them if not for anything else. Cesar lifted his chin, proud, and Orestes smiled. 

“We can go back to our lodgings, now,” Orestes said. “We’ll leave Cesar to his work.” As if he spent the nights working on the books, as well.

Oliver stretched his lips into a smile and nodded his head, in goodbye to Cesar, as they walked away. 

Oliver did not see Elio for the whole of the next day, nor did he see Marzia. Orestes was still busy with his council meetings, in preparation for the ceremony; and so Oliver spent a few hours with Anthea, walking around - this time she led him to visit the stables, and to speak to the farmers who looked after the horses. 

Oliver wondered where Elio was. He imagined he would be busy - although the didn’t know much about his daily routine at all. 

There was no trace of Marzia at dinner, either. 

Oliver sat with Orestes and Anthea. Then, he said he was tired - and he was. Anthea walked with him back to his lodging; Oliver had been thinking about going to the lake, to see if perhaps he could catch Elio there - but he wasn’t going to risk being found. The way Elio had asked him not to tell anyone - he was sure there would be serious consequences if they did see him there, if not for him, surely for Elio. 

And so, he stayed inside. Promised himself he would try and wander out in a couple of hours. Or, failing that, he would try and seek Elio out the next day. 

And so, he was shocked, almost to the core, when he found the boy in his room, just as he was turning to close the door. 

“Elio?” Oliver asked, remembering at the last second to keep his voice down. 

Elio was standing by the window. In the dark, his back to the wall, his chin lifted, as usual, his gaze steely. 

“How did you get in here, Elio?” Oliver asked, trying not to make it sound like a reprimand, trying to control his voice and the way his breathing had accelerated for the surprise. 

“I’ve grown up here. I know every possible door, opening, window, what have you.”

Oliver ran a hand through his hair. Took a deep breath, and made himself give Elio a small smile. After all, he was happy to see him. 

“You didn’t come to the lake yesterday,” Elio said. “I thought you would come, like the day before.” 

His voice was in such contrast to his expression; his eyes were hard, inflexible, but his words, rushed, spoke of displeasure - almost like a child who’d had a promise broken. 

“I was summoned by Orestes,” Oliver said. 

Elio’s frown deepened. 

“Why?” 

“He wanted to show me the Library.”

Elio blinked, suddenly, as if he’d been slapped, but he schooled his expression soon after. 

Oliver sat down on the edge of his bed. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to come and see you,” he murmured softly. 

Elio raised his chin even higher. 

“I never said that.”

Oliver smiled, a little wider. 

Interacting with Elio was like trying to approach a wild animal - he needed to be careful, not make abrupt moves. Make him understand he was safe. 

“I thought about you. I wanted to see you - but I didn’t want to put you in danger,” he told him, softly. 

Elio did not respond, just looked at him, frowning. There was a light in his eyes at Oliver’s words. 

“Have you been preparing for the ceremony?” Oliver asked. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Oliver pressed gently. 

“Why?”

“Because you can’t understand.”

Oliver sighed. He wanted to ask Elio to come and sit next to him, to overcome that invisible barrier that seemed to exist between them right now, but he didn’t want to scare him away. 

Not that Elio looked like he could be scared, right now, anyway. 

“Try me?”

“You can’t understand,” Elio insisted. “Nor do you care.”

And Oliver decided to be honest. 

“Elio. I do care. I know - we know very little of each other. But I feel - I feel a connection, with you. You seem more honest and truthful than anyone else I’ve met here so far.”

He watched the boy swallow. He thought his facade relented for a moment, before his expression regained its austerity; but the boy’s eyes had a different light, now. One of interest; of curiosity. Like a wolf cub, a lion cub, sniffing a familiar scent, not the poacher’s this time but that of, possibly, one of the same species. 

Elio walked the few steps to reach the bed, and then sat on the far edge across from Oliver, his back to the wall. His jaw had lost its tension. 

“I wanted to hear more about New York,” the boy murmured. “I liked listening to you, the other day. I had a dream about being in New York. I want to dream about it every night.”

“There’s other places I can tell you about,” Oliver smiled. “Other places you would like just as much.”

“Far away from here?” Elio’s voice was small, with a tone that betrayed his age. 

“Far away from here,” Oliver nodded, and prepared to start his tale. 

Oliver told him about Los Angeles. About San Francisco. About Vancouver, and Canada, and then about Mexico, and South America. 

Elio listened and asked questions, and for a little while his protective mask dropped, leaving only the boy behind it, full of interest and curiosity. 

Oliver did not know how long they talked for, but when he glanced outside through the window, the sky was beginning to change into a lighter shade of blue. 

Elio followed his gaze, and stood. 

“I have to go,” he said, quickly. His young face was newly tense, now, a flush of red over his cheeks and freckles which was evidently caused by anxiety. 

Oliver looked up at him, wanting to say something, but not knowing what would help. 

“The Ceremony is in three days. They have to dress me, tomorrow, they have to change the flowers in my hair,” Elio said, a quick succession of words, as if for a recital. Oliver had never seen him so stressed. 

The boy stopped for a moment, to look up at Oliver. It was like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Swallowed instead, and then walked quickly to the window, climbed through it in one smooth movement, disappearing, before Oliver could say anything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think?


	7. Chapter 7. The Incident

The next day Oliver had just finished his breakfast, and was walking out of the Main Hall, when he heard screams and muffled noises coming from outside. 

When he looked at what the commotion might be, frowning, the noise had already subsided. There was a small group of people - all wearing grey, not white - carrying a stretcher, made of wood and seemingly put together quite haphazardly. On the stretcher, a body lay - a boy. He wasn’t moving, and there was blood on the side of his chest, but Oliver couldn’t tell if he was dead or still alive. He was motionless. He seemed to be around the same age as Elio. 

Oliver watched the men carry him away - the boy still unmoving on the stretcher. 

He set his jaw. 

“What happened?” he turned to Anthea, who stood next to him - she’d sat next to him at breakfast the whole time. 

“I’m - I’m not sure,” the girl babbled. She seemed on the verge of tears.

“Well, I want to find Orestes, and ask him.”

Orestes was in the Reception Hall, the one he’d met Oliver in the day he arrived. He was arranging flowers for the ceremony, he said, and smiled at Oliver when he asked about the commotion, and the boy on the stretcher. 

“I know you think we’re the perfect community,” Orestes said, motioning for Oliver to sit down at the table, taking a seat himself and pouring a hot beverage for both of them. It smelled like chamomile, just like the one Oliver had a few days back. “But, we’re just human. Mistakes happen within our community as well.”

‘Can you just get to the point’, Oliver wanted to ask - he was so tired of Orestes’s flights of fancy. “What happened out there?” he asked then, managed to keep hold of himself, not without a hint of impatience. 

“A young member of the community attempted to cross the border unauthorized. You will understand that this could put the whole of Arcadia in danger. There are rules for a reason. But he was stopped, and we are all safe again.” He smiled his usual smile, which now, to Oliver, was starting to acquire sinister undertones. “These incidents happen, sometimes, but they are very rare. I’m sorry you had to witness this during your stay.”

The whole exchange left a bitter taste in Oliver’s mouth, for the whole morning.

He thought of Elio. He wondered how he was doing, if he was okay. 

He told Orestes that he needed to stay in his lodging to write for the rest of the morning. He knew he wasn’t going to be seeing Elio, and he didn’t have hopes of seeing Marzia around, either, and so he remained inside, writing, and thinking. 

That night he had to meet the others for dinner - it was inevitable, given that it was held in the Main Hall - but once again there was no sight of the younger members of the community. Anthea was with him, and so was Orestes, and Sysiphos. 

When Oliver blamed tiredness and his workload on wanting to go back to his room, after eating, the others did not seem to find it overly strange. 

“You’ll want to be fresh for the Ceremony,” Orestes said, laughed. 

Oliver forced himself to smile politely. He was going to ask them, tomorrow, what exactly this Ceremony was going to entail. They’d given him some details, but everything was really vague - he’d only now started to realise how vague. And he was, honestly, feeling rather on edge. 

Elio was in his room again, when Oliver returned. 

It was less of a surprise this time, in fact, it was a relief. Oliver smiled at him, smiled at the window that the boy climbed into so easily, smiled at the boy’s eyes that gazed at him interestedly while he insisted on sticking his chin up, trying to look unaffected. 

“Are you alright?” Oliver asked. His heart was beating faster. He felt happy, for a moment, so relieved. He didn’t even know why, it wasn’t like Elio had been in immediate danger. 

“Yes,” Elio said. He kept his eyes on Oliver. 

Oliver smiled still. He really wished he knew how to make Elio smile, too. 

“I looked for you,” Oliver said, keeping his tone light. “I was wondering how - everything’s going.”

Elio tilted his head to the side. He pursed his lips - it could have almost been a smile, a smirk, maybe. It made the dimples on his cheeks appear then. 

“Do you find that you tend to always ask the same question?” he asked. 

Oliver chuckled, looked down, then back up into Elio’s face. The mouth on that boy. 

“I just meant - how did the preparations go,” he clarified, game for Elio’s teasing. 

Yet, there was a shift in the mood at his question. 

“I had to stand there, while they put all this fabric, and stuff on me. They put those flowers on my head - I can’t even stand the smell anymore. They put powder on my face, on my cheeks, some black cream on my eyelashes. It’s so tedious, and I’m so tired.”

That was more than Elio had ever confessed to him, about the Celebration. 

Oliver hesitated for a moment; and then sat on the edge of the bed, much like he’d done the night before. 

“But you’ll be turning seventeen,” he tried, gently. “Are you not - excited?” It was a way like any other to prompt Elio to tell him more. 

“Why should I?” Elio shook his head, and his curls followed the movement. “It just means that I - that I’ll have to do what they say. Worse than now. It just means that I’ll have duties and orders and - and will have someone to obey.” 

“But you’re the Chosen One,” Oliver pressed. “Doesn’t that mean you’ll be - looked after? Spoiled?” 

“That’s what they’ve told you, isn’t it? Of course. And that’s probably how they see it. But if it were you, you wouldn’t want to be me.”

Oliver sighed again. 

“Will you - will you come and sit next to me?” he asked, tentatively, patting the spot next to him on the edge of the bed. “I just want to talk.”

Elio looked at him. His thick eyebrows were knitted together, but he didn’t look worried, rather like he was trying to read Oliver, read through him. A few moments later he relented, and stepped closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“Tell me what happens. At this Ceremony,” Oliver asked. 

Elio sighed. With the stubbornness of his sixteen years. 

“You do tend to ask the same questions. I’ve already told you. They dress me up. They take me out to the village. They throw petals and leaves, they chant.”

“Go on.”

Elio set his jaw. 

“I don’t want to be telling you again,” he shook his head once more, and tensed up, suddenly agitated. “You don’t believe me.”

He made to stand up, but Oliver reached out, covered the boy’s hand with his own. An instinctive gesture, which he hoped he wouldn’t have to regret. 

He spoke, quietly, slowly. Trying to keep from spooking Elio even further, trying to persuade him. 

“I do believe you. I just - want to know more. Need to know more. Maybe I can help you.”

He hoped his eyes showed all the sincerity that he felt in that moment. Elio’s own eyes were wide, and hard, again, but the boy had frozen at the contact of Oliver’s hand on his. It was like he was holding his breath. He didn’t break eye contact, but he hesitated a moment, as if he was gauging Oliver’s honesty.

“I don’t need help,” Elio said. Stubborn. 

Oliver pressed further, gently. Didn’t move his hand from Elio’s. 

“I think you do.”

It made the boy look away for a moment. He was spirited, just like Orestes had said, but there was more to it. He was older than his age. He’d been through a lot, and it showed. 

“You know who I am,” Elio said, then. “You know why I’m the Chosen One. I can have children, and that’s what’s important to them. That’s what they want to do with me.”

“With the Favourite?” Oliver’s voice was soft. 

He’d tried to press, to find out more, to have more elements to build his idea, to decide what to do - he’d tried to be delicate. And yet, the mention of this name caused Elio to stand up, abruptly, his childlike face reddening, in anger or upset, Oliver wasn’t sure. Perhaps a mix of both. 

“I have already told you, and yet you’re asking me again,” Elio was breathing hard.“You’ll go to Orestes, you’ll go to Them, and then I’ll be - “ and here he didn’t continue, ground his teeth, squared himself up as if what he’d said was already too much. 

Oliver stood up, too, with urgency. 

“Elio, hey, no, no. This is not why I’m talking to you, I promise. I’m not going to tell them anything.”

Instinctively, he’d grabbed Elio around the shoulders with both hands, was holding him from leaving - wanted the boy to look at him in the face still, wanted him to know he was sincere. 

He knew it was the wrong thing to do, but Elio didn’t try to free himself. His eyes were wide, pools of innocence mixed with years of memories and knowledge. 

“I won’t have any say in my own life, Oliver,” Elio said, quietly. His voice tense. “I’ll be given to someone who I will have to sleep with and have children with, just for the purpose of - of what they want, of their sick, stupid traditions. I have no say in this and never will. But I don’t want any of it. None.” 

Oliver’s hands were trembling, as he still held on to Elio’s thin forearms. 

This was nothing new; this was just what he’d seen, indirectly, pieced together from what he’d been shown. But to hear it from Elio, to hear the whole thing, was a different thing. 

“They will tell you that I chose it, but I haven’t,” Elio continued. “You have to believe me.”

“I do,” Oliver nodded. “I believe you.”

There was a moment, in which Oliver could only hear the crazed beating of his own heart, could only see the accelerated breath in Elio’s small body and his eyes, so wide, so expressive, asking for help even though his face still tried to school itself into stoicism. 

And then, Elio moved. 

Lunged himself forward, until his lips connected with Oliver’s. 


	8. Chapter 8. Pink

His mind was screaming at him to stop, but the truth was, Oliver kissed Elio back. 

The boy’s lips were full and soft, the softest he’d ever kissed, and for a few long moments Oliver let his hormones-loaded brain rule his decision making and urge him to keep kissing the boy, keep his hand on the boy’s shoulder, his other hand on his cheek, greedily guiding him into the right angle to deepen the kiss, to lick his mouth and tongue, to elicit more soft sounds from him. 

It made Oliver realise that he hadn’t just been seeing Elio as merely good-looking, that he hadn’t been appraising his looks from a distance in an objective, emotion-less way. It made him realise that his interest went far past that protective feeling he’d been experiencing. 

It made Oliver reprimand himself. It made him hold Elio’s cheek gently, but firmly, in his hand, hold the boy’s forearm as he pulled back, slowly re-opening his eyes, chastising himself for having listened to instinct over reason. 

“Please kiss me,” Elio said, his protest as childlike as it wanted to be commanding. 

Oliver held him still, looked at him seriously. 

“I want to help you,” he said, softly. It wasn’t much of an explanation - but his heart still beat fast, his thoughts still tripped over each other - Elio’s eyes were still wide and innocent and his mouth still so incredibly inviting. 

“I want to be with you. Please, kiss me,” Elio repeated, and tried to lunge forward once again - but Oliver’s hands held him fast by the shoulders, and Oliver was stronger. 

“Elio...”

“Is it because you think I’ll be trouble?” the boy asked. His eyes, for one moment, were shining - vulnerable. The corners of his mouth were slanted downwards. “I won’t. I’ll be a perfect angel.”

“It’s not that, Elio...” Oliver shook his head. 

And Elio lifted his head, chin up, his features becoming newly rigid - going back to the mask of unaffectedness he always wore. 

“You don’t want me. It’s my destiny, isn’t it? Only being wanted by people who I don’t want.”

“Elio, no.”

But the boy, swollen lips pursed together, had already taken a step back, and then walked to the window, climbing back out of it before Oliver could even realise it. 

For a moment, Oliver stood, confused, torn. Then he left his hut, walking towards the Second Hall, across the clearing while the whole village was silent, sleeping. There was no trace of Elio, and no trace of anyone else - but Oliver only walked halfway and then stopped, thinking about what he was doing. 

He couldn’t just chase after Elio like that. He was sure if he was found out, there would be serious consequences - which, more worryingly, wouldn’t perhaps even be for him, but rather for Elio. 

And so he walked back to his lodging, head down. His thoughts never leaving Elio and what had just happened. 

Oliver made himself go to bed, and wished for sleep to come quickly, so that it would be the next day, and he could see to find some clarity in the mysteries his visit to Arcadia was uncovering. 

Oliver thought and thought. Elio kissing him had stirred up emotions in him, desires. He’d known all along - he liked the boy, he felt a connection to him, with him. He felt protective towards him. He’d come to Arcadia to study the village but his interest had quickly shifted from observing to wanting to know about Elio, worrying about Elio, wanting to help him. And of course that was a normal reaction anybody could have had in the face of someone, a young kid, being so obviously in danger, being made to do something he so obviously didn’t want to do; but last night’s kiss had made Oliver realise, or rather, confirm, his feelings towards Elio. They went past normal and obvious altruism, past his desire to protect and to help. Oliver felt a deeper connection to him. Oliver felt attracted to him. 

As he sat in the Main Hall, sipping on tea and trying to scan his surroundings without getting noticed, Oliver cringed inwardly. 

This was such a difficult situation to navigate. 

Elio had kissed him. Oliver didn’t know if that had been because the boy liked him, or just because he wanted to be noticed, because he saw Oliver as the lesser of two threats. And this was what had made Oliver stop the kiss, as much as he’d wanted to keep going, keep kissing those sinfully soft, full lips, keep listening to Elio’s gentle moans, perhaps let his hands slide down the boy’s arms and sides and touch, explore, grasp. 

Oliver had wanted that but he’d made himself stop, had made Elio stop, because it wasn’t that easy. He wanted to make sure Elio was okay. He wasn’t going to take advantage of him, of his vulnerability - he wasn’t going to be just another one of the adult men in the village. 

And yet, of course, his necessary, abrupt stop had put the wrong idea in Elio’s mind. Now the boy thought Oliver didn’t like him. He probably thought that Oliver didn’t care, even though Oliver had just repeated to him how much he did, in fact, care. 

But facts speak louder than words. 

Oliver looked around, once again, at the villagers swarming the Hall, all dressed in white and wearing their trademark flowers in their hair. Excitement in the air. 

The ceremony for the Coming of Age celebration was to start tonight. 

“I need to speak to Elio,” Oliver whispered to Marzia, urgently, as soon as he was able to find her, in the kitchen that afternoon. 

“What, today? You can’t,” Marzia’s French accent gentled her words, but she was firm, her eyes once again hard, expression schooled into something rehearsed. “He’s getting ready. He’ll be taken to meet the Favourite tonight. He needs to look perfect for him. The Chosen One cannot attend his Coming of Age with white flowers.”

“I don’t know what this flower thing means,” Oliver said urgently, frustrated. “I just need to speak to him, really quickly. A matter of seconds.” It wasn’t true, of course, but he needed to try and convince her. 

Marzia looked at him, her large brown eyes inquisitive - but there was something else. She seemed - scared. Her jaw was set, and she looked around them, even though there was nobody else in the room. 

“You can’t see him now,” she whispered. “You just can’t.”

“Marzia-“

“But maybe you can quickly speak tonight, when he comes back. Come to our usual place - I’ll let you know if you can see him.”

“Tell me about the flowers, in everybody’s hair,” Oliver asked Orestes later that afternoon, as they went for a walk around the clearing, Anthea in tow. “I’ve noticed they are different colors and obviously that means something, but I’m not sure what.”

There was a strange atmosphere around the whole village. Everyone seemed busy, intent in their tasks both inside the halls and in the clearing. It was as if they were all in sync, getting ready, waiting. 

Orestes smiled, but kept his eyes ahead of himself. 

“It’s simple. White flowers are worn by people who are unaccompanied. Pink is worn when an interest has arisen; purple and red are for when someone is taken, and coupled.”

“Is that why the Chosen One cannot wear white flowers at the ceremony?” Oliver asked, forgetting for a moment to use the official title for Elio, almost calling him by his real name.

Orestes turned towards him. 

“How do you know this?”

Shit. Oliver rushed to find an excuse. 

“It’s what everybody’s saying. That he won’t wear white flowers.” 

He hoped Orestes would be happy with that explanation; but the man just smiled again, nodded. Turned back to look ahead of him as they walked. 

“Tonight he’ll be officially presented to the Favourite, whom he will be coupled with a week after the ceremony. After tomorrow, he’ll wear pink flowers, and everybody will know.” 

Oliver looked ahead, too. Swallowed, while his heartbeat quickened with adrenaline. He was so angry, so worried for Elio. He obviously didn’t want this - and it all sounded strange, unnatural, with an undertone of danger to it.

Oliver relaxed his features, made himself look unaffected - something told him any interference with their plans would not be well received by either Orestes or the rest of the village. 

His brain thought furiously. He hardly even heard anything of what Orestes was saying. He held his hands in fists alongside his sides as they kept walking. 

Behind them, Anthea followed them, purple flowers in her hair, now. 


	9. Chapter 9. The Celebration

For the whole night, Oliver was on edge. Tense, nervous. Worried. 

He sprang from his chair at midnight and walked to the door, on his way to the Second Hall, hoping against hope to be able to see Elio, to check that he was okay, to speak to him. 

But, to his great surprise, just outside of his hut there stood Marzia. Wearing a long white dress that reached her feet, she looked even smaller, even thinner. She was shivering gently in the chilly air of the night. Her eyes were wide and apologetic, and Oliver knew instantly that she wasn’t there to bring good news. 

“What are you doing here, Marzia?” Oliver asked anxiously. 

The girl looked around, wringing her hands together. Then she brought her gaze back to Oliver’s face. 

“Everyone is with the Favorite. No one is around. Look, Oliver - Elio can’t see you now. I’m sorry.”

She pursed her lips, and then turned around to walk away. 

“Who is the Favorite,” Oliver asked, quietly but urgently, taking a step towards her. 

Marzia stopped, turned back around. 

“I don’t know.”

“You’re Elio’s Helper. You must know.”

Marzia shook her head. Her lips were still pursed, and even in just the light of the moon, Oliver could see her eyes were getting teary.

“Oliver, please. I cannot tell. It’s not allowed to reveal the Favorite before the Ceremony.”

Oliver sighed. His hands were closed in fists by his sides. 

“At least tell me that Elio is okay,” he asked. 

Marzia looked at him. Her lips moved, almost imperceptibly, their corners stretched into a tiny smile. Her eyes were still bright. 

“He’s alright,” she nodded. “You’ll see him tomorrow.”

And Oliver watched her disappear into the night. 

The next day, the Ceremony only started in the afternoon, but the frenzy that preceded it began at the first light of day.

Oliver could hardly sleep, and so he left his hut, walked around, observing the activity, a frown on his face as he tried to figure out what was happening. 

Anthea came to collect him around lunchtime. She was wearing purple flowers once again, and smiled at him. She was carrying clothing over her arms, and she offered them to Oliver. It was a tunic, a dark blue color. 

“You should wear this today. Is what Outsiders wear at our Ceremonies.”

Oliver did not oppose that, but didn’t join in in her cheer, either. It was the last thing he wanted, on both counts. 

He was still tense about Elio, but he really did not want to raise suspicions, for Anthea to tell on him with the Elders, for them to, maybe, probably, prevent him from attending the Ceremony. He needed to see that Elio was okay. 

And when Oliver finally saw him, the boy, at first glance, seemed fine. 

He was wearing a shining, gold outfit, that made him shine in the feeble rays of sun. His hair was perfectly arranged into a halo of curls. His mouth was red; he was wearing a crown of lilac flowers. 

He seemed pale, paler than usual - that was the only thing that seemed different about him. 

He stood on a wooden stage, serious and gaze unfocused, while all the villagers clapped and looked up at him, smiling, proud and full of excitement. 

Orestes stood on the stage next to the boy, the same proud smile as the others on his face. 

“And it’s finally the day, my dearest Arcadians!” he said, loud, for everybody to hear. “Our wonderful Chosen One turns seventeen today. He stands in front of you, now, and looks forward to taking his place in our society and to his new life!”

Oliver looked at Elio’s face. The boy didn’t react to the words, didn’t react to the cheering of the crowd. 

Orestes continued. 

“Last night, the Chosen One met the Favorite. It’s a match made in the heavens. And we can now reveal the Favorite, to you, for you all to revere him just like you with our Chosen One.”

Oliver looked on. And a moment later, in front of everyone, there walked Cesar. On stage, next to Elio and Orestes. 

The crowd cheered, clapped. On the stage, Orestes and Cesar smiled. 

Oliver’s blood ran cold. Then, his hands closed into fists. His jaw set, he breathed hard. 

Cesar. 

Of course. 

That night, the celebrations went on in the village, with music, dances, food, and villagers staying up way past the moon had sunk into the horizon. 

Oliver did not feel like celebrating one bit. 

Cesar and Elio weren’t around, nor was Orestes, and so Oliver decided to walk around for a while - everyone busy celebrating, there wasn’t much chance his wandering would be noticed or seen as suspicious. 

He walked around to the Second Hall, but it was silent. Seemed deserted, with all the young villagers out partying; and so Oliver kept walking. 

Until he saw another building - similar to his own lodging, but tucked away at the foot of the hill that stood behind the village. There was a light coming from inside, visible through the window; Oliver frowned, walked over. 

The door was, weirdly, open. Voices came from inside - raised voices. 

Oliver held his breath, his heart beating faster, but his curiosity stronger than his apprehension. He stopped by the side of the door, to make sure whoever was inside couldn’t see him. 

And then, he saw them. 

Elio, Orestes and Cesar. 

But what he saw froze Oliver’s blood. Cesar was holding Elio by his jaw, tilting the boy’s face up to his own - Elio was tall, but Cesar was taller, and stronger. 

“I will not allow this impudence, boy,” Cesar snarled low, right on Elio’s face. “You’re mine. You do as I say.”

Elio’s face was tense, his rib cage moving fast with his breaths. But he was looking straight into Cesar’s eyes, defiant: he wasn’t scared. 

Oliver set his jaw, felt rage boil within his chest. Orestes was standing there, letting this happen, letting everything happen. 

“Let me go,” Elio growled back, teeth grinding. 

And Cesar moved: his hand slid down to Elio’s throat, and he squeezed, making the boy close his eyes, gasp in a breath. 

Oliver could no longer just watch silently. 

“Hey!” he shouted, stepping into the door, frowning, furious. “What are you doing! Let him go, now!”

Both Cesar and Orestes turned to him, startled at first; and then, their surprise turned into anger. 


	10. Chapter 10. The Nightmare

“What are you doing here?” Orestes asked him, walking towards him as if to push Oliver back out the door, his face red - and it seemed in anger, but Oliver wondered if it wasn’t shame, also. 

“I don’t think that’s the question to ask here!” Oliver bit back, refusing to step back. 

“You shouldn’t be here - you should be at the Celebration. You are missing it!” Orestes said, and his voice was more controlled now, the man obviously making an effort. His words were back to being rehearsed, no longer panicked and accidental, and Oliver fixed his eyes on him. 

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” he growled, only managing to just contain himself, because what he really wanted to do was raise his voice, threaten him, threaten Cesar. 

He was expecting Orestes to square up to him, perhaps to start reciting some script about safety in the village and Oliver being a danger like all outsiders who couldn’t be trusted - and instead, the man visibly shrunk right in front of Oliver’s eyes, his head nodding, his voice calm and controlled, suddenly conversational. 

“It was a misunderstanding,” he said, his hand coming up to grasp Oliver’s arm. “Nothing bad. Elio himself can tell you.” 

Oliver shook his head, looked to Cesar, who now stood still, unmoving. A few steps away, Elio watched the exchange, his chin up, frowning. 

“Do I need to repeat myself, don’t insult my intelligence,” Oliver growled again.

“No, no,” Orestes said. He nodded towards Elio. “Here. Elio can tell you.” 

Oliver looked to the boy, then back at Orestes, and he wanted to almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation. What was Orestes even getting at? 

“You’re welcome to speak to him,” Orestes insisted - and his tone was now slowly going back to his usual, flat, assured level. “You’re welcome to ask him.”

Oliver lifted his chin too, set his jaw. His patience was growing thin. 

“Fine. Fine. You want me to ask him? I will, but not with you and - that man, here as well.”

“Oh, but the Chosen One is not allowed-“ Orestes started - but Oliver interrupted him, raised his voice again. 

“How would I know that he’s saying the truth, if I’m not allowed to speak to him in private?” he asked, almost grinding his teeth. 

Orestes held Oliver’s angry gaze for a few long moments. Then he turned to Cesar, who was still quiet, and sighed, nodded. 

“Alright. But you can only have a few minutes. You will see that everything is fine.”

“Get out of here,” Oliver said, motioning to the entrance. He was tired of Orestes. Tired of their excuses. Tired of their lies, of the mystery. 

He knew he was playing with fire, but he also knew that the Arcadians, and especially the Elders, saw Oliver’s opinion and account of the village as their card to be left alone, to no longer be questioned by governments in the world, to erase the bad reputation that had been spreading about the community. He knew he was important to them, a big exercise in good publicity; he knew he could push his luck. 

Orestes nodded at Cesar, and both men left the hut - and Oliver held Cesar’s eyes, defiant, as the man walked past him, staring. 

When Oliver heard the door slamming closed, he took a few steps towards Elio. The boy was still standing there, unmoving, looking at Oliver now, quiet. 

“Tell me what happened?” Oliver said. He had to actively work to keep his tone gentle against the anger that he felt within his body. 

Elio pursed his lips, but didn’t answer. 

“Elio,” Oliver tried again. “You know it would stay between us. Please tell me what happened.”

Oliver knew Elio had enough intelligence to be wary of his promise not to tell anyone. After all, why would Oliver be asking, if he wasn’t planning on doing anything?

When Elio did not respond, still, Oliver gentled his voice even more, took one more step towards the boy. Held his eyes. Pleaded. 

“I just want to know that you’re alright.”

Elio, finally, spoke. 

“I’m fine.” His voice calm. Controlled. Quiet. “You can see that I am fine. Nothing happened.”

Oliver shook his head minutely, pursed his lips. 

“He had you by your throat, he was threatening you-“ he tried, gently, still gently. 

“I think you’re mistaken,” Elio looked down for one, almost imperceptible moment, and then lifted his chin again. “I think you believe you’ve seen something, but it isn’t true.”

Oliver sighed. His eyes beating faster now. He felt defeated. 

“Elio, you don’t have to hide things from me. You can tell me the truth.”

The boy swallowed, but held Oliver’s eyes. 

“I did. It’s the truth.”

And Oliver could no longer stand it. 

He took one more step, and his hand cupped Elio’s nape, while he gently pulled the boy to himself, joined their mouths. 

It was a desperate move but Oliver could not think of anything else, and he held Elio’s face carefully but firmly, tilted it up, took his lips in a firm kiss, his heart beating erratically and feeling that he would be rejected at any second. 

And instead, Elio softened in his arms. 

He opened his mouth, accepting the kiss, kissing Oliver back. Letting the older man’s tongue touch his own, letting Oliver’s hand hold the back of his head, his fingers deep into his curls. 

Oliver closed his eyes, thinking that it was good that that place had no windows, thinking that actually he didn’t even care if those people saw them. 

He drank Elio in and kissed him for a long minute, trying to share all the urgency, all the desperation, all the worry and the apprehension he felt for him with that kiss. Eventually, he’d taken Elio’s breath for long enough, and as the boy started to pull back, Oliver did too, pressing one last kiss to those full lips and letting his eyes linger on them, on how red they were when he let them go. 

He looked up at him, and Elio’s hair was mussed, the crown of lilac flowers tilted down, wilted down from the day. 

“Please, Elio,” Oliver begged one more time. 

Elio’s eyes blinked. He looked at Oliver, gaze wide. 

“I can’t, Oliver.” He shook his head, and for a moment, he was defenceless, his barriers down, he was almost a different person - young, vulnerable, unsure. “I can’t. You need to stay away. You need to stay away from me.” 

Oliver shook his head too, a thousand questions in his mind, but he was unable to make himself speak, make himself ask. Elio was still looking at him, his eyes still wide, but his jaw was newly tense, his posture back to rigid, still. 

It felt to Oliver as if it had been hours since they’ve been left alone, but it had only been minutes - and now the door re-opened, Orestes walking in, his face a mask of calm now. 

“I trust you feel better, Oliver,” he said, walking past him, stopping next to Elio. He was followed by a tall, thin girl, her hair straight and blonde, her face serious. Cesar wasn’t with them. “Elio needs to go now.” Orestes turned to the girl. “Jules, please, can you accompany Elio to his lodging.”

The girl nodded, then she reached her thin arm towards Elio and circled his waist delicately, led him out of the room in silence. 

Oliver’s ears were ringing. He still couldn’t bear to look at Orestes. He still knew things were very wrong - but if Elio refused to let him help, what could he do? 

He sighed, a long sigh of frustration. When Orestes motioned with his hand towards the door in an unspoken ‘after you’ gesture, Oliver walked out without being told twice, and didn’t wait for Orestes to catch up to him as he headed back towards the village. 

“Jules is Elio’s Assigned, now”, Marzia said to him, the morning after, in the Main Hall. Oliver had found her there very early, when not many villagers were around, especially after staying up late the night before. Marzia kept looking around, checking her surroundings. “I don’t know why they decided it wouldn’t be me. They haven’t told me. I don’t know.”

It was evident that she was deeply saddened of having been separated from her best friend. Oliver ground his teeth, frustration bubbling up to the surface again.

He didn’t know if he could tell Marzia what he had seen the night before. He didn’t know how she could react, he didn’t even know if it would serve anything - he wasn’t even sure that she hadn’t seen the same thing happen before. 

So Oliver didn’t say anything. 

“Tell me what happens now,” he asked instead, looking away, pretending to be unaffected for the benefit of whoever might be watching them. “With Elio, and - and Cesar.”

“The Chosen One and the Favorite have a number of functions to attend together,” Marzia spoke quietly. “On the seventh day after the Coming of Age Celebration, they move in to the same lodging. They need to sleep together if they are to give their heirs to the village.”

It sounded rehearsed, learned by heart, just like the rest of the rules and traditions of the village. Oliver closed his hands into fists, but made himself not react. 

“What happens if the Chosen One doesn’t want to sleep with the Favorite,” he asked, under his breath. 

“It’s not something for him to decide,” Marzia said. Her voice trembled a little. 

“Not for him to decide,” Oliver repeated, quietly, disbelieving and full of anger. He looked down, at the neat and clean dark floor under his feet. 

He needed to find a way to get Elio out of this nightmare.


	11. Chapter 11: The Passing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of suicide in this chapter

The next day, Oliver found an excuse to stay inside his hut, said he needed to write, asked not to be disturbed until after lunch. He didn’t eat, but he didn’t feel hungry, either. 

Only when afternoon began Anthea knocked on his door, called for him, timidly, as usual. 

“I just wanted to check that you are all right and if you needed anything,” she said when Oliver opened the door. “I need to go to the Passing now, so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.”

“What’s the Passing?” Oliver asked. 

Anthea looked suddenly worried, scared. 

“It’s nothing,” she babbled. “Just - something in the village. But - you have to write, so, don’t worry about it.”

Oliver watched her walk away, quickly after that, her long white dress flowing in the wind. A purple petal fell behind from the crown of flowers on her head. 

Oliver stood by the door, holding onto each side, his knuckles turning white with tension. Clearly that was something they didn’t want him to see. It was something Anthea had probably been ordered not to talk to him about. 

And so, of course, Oliver needed to find out what exactly was going on now. 

He saw a crowd, first. A large number of Arcadians, if not all of them, all stood by the foot of the hill in their white attires, looking eerily like a bunch of ghosts, of lost souls, all staring at a point up above. 

On the top of the hill, where the rock was steeper, stood Sysiphos. The Elder Oliver had met at the beginning. He wore a grey tunic this time, and he stood by himself, the wind blowing through the fabric of his outfit and through his hair. 

A male voice, coming probably from somewhere in front of the group, spoke then.

“Sysiphos has lived a honourable life. You all know him - you all know how much he’s helped, grown, and benefited our community. He has reached his sixty-fifth year. We are very happy for him, and for the journey he is about to begin.”

The crowd clapped and cheered. On the top of the mountain, Sysiphos still stood, unmoving.

“This journey and this moment are a privilege we all aspire to. Hail to you, Sysiphos, for the gift you are giving us.”

From where he stood, behind the crowd, Oliver looked around. Everyone, old, young, even children, had their eyes trained on the Elder on top of the hill; when Oliver looked in front of them, on a stage to the side, he saw Cesar and Elio, standing there. Cesar wearing white, Elio, his golden clothes. His eyes were steely, looking ahead, unfocused. 

The crowd cheered again; and Oliver only had the time to look up for a moment - and only saw the impact. Sysiphos’s body touching the ground, in front of Cesar and Elio, with a muted, horrendous sound. The crowd cheering. 

Oliver’s ears were ringing. 

He couldn’t see in front of the people, he couldn’t see what Elio was seeing, and yet he felt sick to his stomach. 

“Marzia,” Oliver said to the girl, urgently, as soon as he saw her. She was walking, carrying a bucket of flowers, her eyes sad. “Marzia. Marzia please stop. You need to help me.”

He was breathing hard, and Marzia knitted her eyebrows together. 

“Are you okay, Oliver?”

“I need to see Elio,” Oliver breathed. “Tell me where to find him.”

Marzia hesitated for a moment. 

“I told you, I - I’m not with him anymore, I- I don’t know...”

“I’m begging you, Marzia,” Oliver took hold of the girl’s arm. “You’ve seen what happened at the - at the Passing, come on, you’ve seen it. I need to talk to him.”

“I will tell him. Oliver, that’s - that’s the most I can do. I can try and tell him. But that’s all.”

Marzia had walked away after that, and Oliver had watched her leave, at a loss for what to do, his mind in overdrive, his body full of adrenaline. 

He couldn’t stop thinking that something really bad was happening, couldn’t stop thinking that something was already happening to Elio, and that he wasn’t around to help him, that it was too late, that he was too far away to do anything. 

He avoided Orestes for the rest of the day, walked around carefully with the only intent of hopefully seeing Elio somewhere, seeing that he was okay. But there was no trace of Elio anywhere. 

And everybody else was carrying on with their lives, with that strange week of celebration, like nothing had happened. Like an elderly man hadn’t just committed suicide right in front of everybody’s eyes, and not only he wasn’t stopped, he had been celebrated. 

Oliver felt like shivering just thinking back to it. 

That night, he walked to the Second Hall. He was desperate. Elio must still be around there - or at least Oliver hoped so.

He waited, and waited, until close to two hours had passed. Until he thought he must have been spotted by someone, more than once - but he didn’t care. He stood by the edge of the woods, behind the Second Hall, near the path to the lake. Waiting, thinking Elio, please, Elio, come out. Let me see that you are okay. 

And, finally, two hours later; Elio appeared. 

He was on his own, still wearing his golden trousers, but with an oversized black jumper on top. As if he’d just thrown it on in the haste of leaving the house right at that moment. It made him look smaller. More defenceless. 

“You’re unwise. You’re unwise, why are you here?” Elio said, hugging himself into his jumper, knitting his eyebrows at Oliver. 

“Are you alright?” Oliver didn’t waste any time, he needed to ask. He padded closer to Elio until he could look him in the eye properly. He had to stop himself from reaching out and touching him, grabbing his arms, checking him over to make sure he wasn’t harmed. 

“I’m fine,” Elio replied. Still calm and collected as before. “But you are unwise. This is dangerous, Oliver.”

“Oh, I figured that now,” Oliver replied, trying hard to keep his voice down. “Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?”

Elio shook his head, sighed. 

“This is such an Outsider’s reaction,” he said. Like a reprimand, but Oliver could read all the resignation in his tone. 

“Well, I’m sure you can understand that. These people - this place, I... it’s shocking, Elio.”

The boy just looked at him, his lips pursed; didn’t say anything. 

Oliver was trying to calm himself down, at least for now, trying to tell himself that Elio was okay. But his brain had already gone into fight mode. 

“Orestes and - and Cesar. Where are they?” he asked urgently. 

“Celebrating the Passing. Drinking. They’ll do that for the next two nights.” Elio replied. He held firm eyes on Oliver. 

And Oliver gazed back at him. 

“What happened today. What - what was that?”

Elio just blinked.

“The Passing. It’s when the older generation kill themselves to make space for the younger generations.”

“Oh, Christ,” Oliver groaned. He ran a hand through his hair. “Christ.”

“Don’t worry. They see it as a good thing. Everybody does.”

Oliver swallowed. Elio’s tone, so cold, so clinical, gave him the shivers. He had to grow up learning those rules, those traditions, and then he had to see them - Oliver could only imagine what this stuff could do to a person’s head. 

But, the way he spoke about it, made it seem like Elio distanced himself from the madness, even more than usual. And that was good. 

“Elio, this is wrong. This is all wrong. This is not normal.”

Elio pursed his lips, lifted his chin. Didn’t say anything. Oliver continued, agitated, not even knowing where his speech was going. 

“It’s - it shouldn’t be happening. It’s all wrong.”

“I told you,” Elio said, his childlike face tense. His eyes were still serious, almost emotionless. “I told you.”

“But - you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have to- you shouldn’t have to do this.”

Elio didn’t move his eyes from Oliver’s. 

“And what do you think I should do? Say, no thanks, I don’t want to do what you say? I don’t want that horrible man’s hands on me? You can imagine how that would go.”

“But then - then, leave. You should leave, you should find a way to- “

“You’ve seen what happens to people who leave unauthorised,” Elio interrupted. His lips pursed so hard that they’d lost their colour. “You’ve seen it.”

Oliver sighed in frustration. He held his fists alongside his body, tight. 

Elio’s words left little to the imagination. He was the Chosen One, yes, but they wouldn’t hesitate in killing him, to set an example, to wipe out the shame, should he try to flee.

“I can’t stay here, and watch this happen,” Oliver said, in a low growl. He looked to the side, to the grass, green and thick. Listened to the sound of the water in the lake nearby, everything speaking of an idyllic place. Clashing hard with reality. 

Elio’s eyes widened, and he blinked, his facade broken for a moment. He squeezed his arms around his chest once again, looking somehow even smaller. 

“Are you going to leave?” he asked, quietly. 

Oliver looked down; to the gravel, the grass. To Elio’s bare feet. He didn’t respond. He was frowning, so many things in his mind but he couldn’t find the words or the will to say any of them. 

And then, there was a noise. 

“Elio!” a female voice called from inside the Hall. “Elio! Where are you?”

“It’s Jules,” Elio whispered, his eyes suddenly alert. “I have to go.”

He took a step back, but then stopped again - looked up at Oliver, into his eyes. His own suddenly looked unsure; worried. Scared. Like Oliver had never seen them before. 

“Elio!” Jules called again. Made Elio startle. And then he turned around, and Oliver watched him retreat, walking gingerly back to the Hall, the gentle noise of the boy’s bare feet on the grass the only remnants of their night time encounter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!! Real life getting in the way...
> 
> Hope you’re still reading!


	12. Chapter 12. Touch

Orestes was nowhere to be found the next day, and Oliver was rather relieved of that. He wanted to be left to his own devices, under the disguise of being busy writing, when he actually wanted to think about what to do. 

He wanted to leave, that was for sure. This was a community with habits and rules that were more than illegal, more than inhuman. All but the stuff of nightmares. 

In normal circumstances Oliver would have already packed his bags and left, as quick as he could. But thinking of Elio made him hesitate. 

He couldn’t leave him here. No matter what he thought of him, no matter what he felt for him, that connection he felt to the boy growing stronger each day - no matter all that, he could not leave thinking of the horrible things that Elio was destined to, that he was powerless to stop. That were about to happen in only a matter of days. 

Oliver did not feel like seeing anyone that day and so he stayed in his lodging, asked Anthea not to look for him. She’d seemed disappointed, her pretty face unhappy, tense - but she’d left after that. Obedient. 

By the time the sky had turned darker with the night, Oliver sat on the edge of his bed, hands in his hair, a bottle of liquor on the floor next to him. It was absinthe, Anthea had said to him one of the first days he’d got there, when he first thought Arcadia was a harmless, interesting community. He’d never touched the drink, until now. Now, he needed it. 

And when someone knocked on his door, Oliver was ready to turn them away. 

“I don’t want any visitors,” he told the person on the other side, who was wearing a cape, the hood covering their head. 

Oliver fully expected Anthea, or even Orestes himself. 

And instead, the voice that answered was Elio’s. 

“Will you let me in?”

“Elio!” Oliver said, quickly remembering to lower his voice, moving aside to let the boy enter. He closed the door behind them, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. “What - how did you get here?”

“I’ve been coming in through your window, and now you ask me how did I get here?” Elio answered, his usual facade up, as he stood in the middle of the room, hood still covering his head. 

“But - did anyone see you?”

Elio shook his head, and rolled his eyes. “No. I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t think I would see you today,” Oliver stepped closer to him. He reached out, tentatively, and when Elio didn’t move away he took one of his wrists in his hand, delicately, lifted it up to inspect it. There were red bruises on his skin; like signs of a restraint, of a bind, a rope around them. 

“What - what did they do to you,” Oliver asked, his whole body tensing. This time, he wasn’t surprised, though he was angry, of course. 

“They were scared of me escaping,” Elio answered, matter of fact, looking up into Oliver’s eyes. And that’s when Oliver saw the boy’s face; the bruises on his cheek, on the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh, Elio,” Oliver breathed. He wanted to reach out, touch him, but his hand was trembling, and he was terrified of hurting him. 

He wanted to hurt the people who had done this to Elio. 

“You escaped anyway,” he murmured quietly, holding Elio’s wrist in his hand, rubbing it gently. 

“They underestimate me. And Marzia.”

Elio’s eyes were still looking right into Oliver’s. They were hard, determined. The boy only left Oliver’s face to look down on the floor, at where the bottle of absinthe sat.

“You were drinking,” he said. 

“I just,” and Oliver felt ridiculous, didn’t know how to elaborate his thoughts. “I was - didn’t know what to do. Was overthinking. This situation is - fucked up.”

“And this is why you have to leave,” Elio murmured, and it sounded like half a question, as if he was asking Oliver, but also acknowledging that that was the only possible solution. His expression, though, had lost its edge; his eyes were wide, lost. 

Young. 

“I can’t stay here, Elio. I can’t, this is - this is insanity. This is wrong.”

Oliver felt like shit as he said it. 

He had the privilege of choosing that he wanted to leave. Of just deciding that this was too much, that it wasn’t normal, that he didn’t have to accept the situation.

But Elio couldn’t. 

And yet, Oliver couldn’t lie. 

Elio nodded. Then, his pale hand reached out; and when it landed on Oliver’s face, on his cheek, gently, Elio’s palm flat against Oliver’s skin, the boy’s face had lost some of its tension. His eyes were wide, dark. Oliver couldn’t not help but drown into them.

And when Elio rose on his tiptoes, to kiss Oliver on the mouth, Oliver could not react if not kissing back. He could not stop himself from pushing into it, from wanting to taste Elio’s lips again. His brain was screaming at him, what are you doing? How is this going to solve anything? 

But his body screamed back. 

This doesn’t need to solve anything. 

Elio’s arms came up to wrap around Oliver’s neck, and the boy pushed further up on his tiptoes to intensify the kiss, walked forward making Oliver walk back, towards the bed, until the older man sat back onto it and Elio climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs, still kissing, kissing. 

A voice in Oliver’s head was telling him they needed to slow down, but his instinct prompted him to go ahead instead, the smell and the softness of Elio’s lips and the way his body felt in Oliver’s hands making it impossible for the older man to listen to reason.

Elio’s cape fell back, onto the floor with a muted noise, leaving the boy just in his shirt and short trousers, like Oliver had never seen him. 

“Touch me, Oliver,” Elio whispered. 

And Oliver felt so weak. So helpless to stop what was happening. 

Before he could even register what he was doing, he pulled Elio under himself on the bed, pushed his shirt up off his shoulders and head, leaving the boy naked from the waist up. Elio’s curls were messy, ruffled, and Oliver ran a hand through them, bending down again to take his full lips onto another kiss, tasting them, like he would with a ripe fruit. 

“You have the most beautiful mouth I have ever seen,” Oliver murmured, rubbing his nose alongside Elio’s cheek, his lips on Elio’s lips. He felt famished, now that they were both on his bed, his desperation and his worry and his anger all mingling together into a wave of hunger and lust towards the beautiful boy in front of him. The boy that didn’t belong to him, but that he wanted with all of himself. The boy that he shouldn’t take, for himself, no matter how freely Elio offered. 

“Touch me, Oliver. I want it,” Elio murmured again, his voice a low, husky whisper. His hand guided Oliver’s back onto his body, and he unlatched his own trousers, pushing them down his legs. Soon, Oliver too was naked; he didn’t even remember how it happened. He just felt sweaty, hot, full of desire. 

And as he leant down for more kisses - his tongue pushing into Elio’s mouth, his teeth giving gentle bites onto the boy’s lips - Elio opened his legs for him, and Oliver lay between them, in the warmth of his body. 

All he felt was Elio’s hand, guiding; and then, all it took was one moment, one kick of Oliver’s hips, and Elio’s back arched, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth pushed into his lower lip, almost drawing blood. He didn’t utter a sound. 

“I’m sorry,” Oliver had the presence of mind to say, softly, against Elio’s throat. “I’m sorry, baby. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not fragile,” Elio breathed back, his ribcage pumping air, and Oliver could feel his heart beating like crazy through their chests pressed together. “I won’t break.”

As if wanting to convince him, Elio sank his fingers into Oliver’s hair, joined their mouths together once again, and Oliver was the defenceless one now. He could no longer fight it; he gave in, into the sensation, the feeling of Elio’s tight body around his, the way he held him inside. His hips began moving, up and down, and Elio moaned in his mouth at every thrust, almost sobbed, and Oliver must have completely lost his mind because he could not stop. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, against the corner of Elio’s mouth, against his cheek. “You feel so good. You’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

And then, when Elio’s skin had gotten so warm it was almost scalding, when his young body tensed up, his legs wrapping around Oliver’s waist letting him in even deeper, when he started breathing so fast as if he was running out of air, Oliver talked to him, but his words were different. 

“I want to take you away from here,” he murmured. “I want to take you away with me. I will kill anyone who dares to touch you again.”

When he came, the pleasure was bittersweet. But the feeling of Elio’s body was one he would never forget. 

He lifted up a little, his hand sneaking in between them to hold Elio’s sex. He looked into the boy’s eyes as he stroked him, slowly, then fast, and tight, until the boy came too; and when he did, Oliver kissed him again, almost not allowing him to breathe. 

When Oliver woke, he wondered if it had all been a dream. 

His eyes refused to open for a moment, and he had to make himself blink, look up, look beside himself on the bed. 

Where he expected to see an empty space, Elio’s body lay, instead. Real. Completely naked, beautiful. His pale skin bathed in the light of the very early morning coming from the window. His ebony curls messy, just like the night before. His mouth was swollen, his eyelashes thick and black on his cheeks. 

Oliver rubbed a hand over his face. Swallowed. Looked to the ceiling, thought about how everything had suddenly gotten ten thousand times more difficult. 

Thought about how both their lives, now, were in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment if you’ve been reading so far x


	13. Chapter 13. The Third Hall

__Oliver stared at the ceiling, at the paintings on the wooden panels above him, for a few more minutes. Refusing to panic, but wanting to. Refusing to let himself fill with worry for Elio, but not really succeeding. 

“Mmh,” Elio mumbled, next to him. Oliver felt a gentle kiss being pressed against his shoulder. “You’re awake.”

“It’s morning,” Oliver replied, uselessly, it was evident enough from the light coming through the window. He turned towards Elio, finding the boy with his eyes closed still, lips pressed against his skin. His expression serene. 

“It’s not even six yet,” Elio mumbled again. He looked so soft. So different from how he usually appeared, now that his guard was down. 

Oliver swallowed, went back to staring at the ceiling. He felt paralysed. 

Elio seemed carefree, not worried at all; Oliver could not feel the same, no matter how hard he tried. 

He was worried sick. 

Elio’s hand stroked up his arm, then down; then the boy interlinked their fingers together. 

“What’s wrong?”

Oliver swallowed again. He wanted to reprimand him - how could he ask what was wrong? But he couldn’t make himself. Elio was still so precious, so important, so blameless in this whole horrible life he’d found himself growing up in. 

And so he just turned towards the boy, looked into his eyes, fern green in the light of the newborn morning. 

“What will happen now? Now that we’ve - I shouldn’t have let myself. This is too dangerous. What happens now?”

“Nothing happens,” Elio replied, eyebrows knitted together. “I know what to do. I know how to play it. It will be fine.”

“So are you saying no one noticed that you disappeared all night? In this place, where - where these people just always watch everything that you - that everyone does?”

“I told you, I know how to play it,” Elio pulled himself up to lean on his elbows. Oliver’s eyes followed the smooth, immaculate curve of the boy’s spine. 

Fuck. 

Elio tilted his head. “Is this what you want to talk about, the morning after we made love?” he asked, his voice low, sultry, caressing. 

The boy might be only seventeen, but it was true; he knew how to play it. 

Oliver sighed. He was still frowning, his whole body still tense with worry. 

“How can you say you know how to play it,” he murmured back softly. His hand rose to Elio’s face, his thumb gently caressing over the bruise on Elio’s cheekbone. It was dark, angry. “How can you not worry, when they’ve done this to you.”

Elio shook his head. And then reached over, cupped Oliver’s face with the palm of his hand, and joined their mouths again. In a slow, gentle kiss. 

Oliver kissed back, powerless to stop it. 

As they kissed, Elio’s hand slid slowly down the older man’s chest; slowly, slowly caressing through the hair down along his sternum, down to his navel. And then Oliver felt Elio’s graceful fingers grip around his sex, holding tightly. 

Elio pulled back, smiled. 

“Teach me,” he said, quietly. “Teach me how to do it.” 

Before Oliver could say anything, before he could ask what he meant, Elio crouched down over his pelvis. And when his mouth touched Oliver, when his soft, full lips wrapped around him, Oliver’s protests died on his mouth as quickly as they had started. 

“I’ll be okay,” Elio said an hour later, though Oliver still held his hands tight into fists, still tense and nervous. 

Elio pulled the cape over his head. And then padded back to Oliver on bare feet, stepped on tiptoes to kiss him again, slow, lingering. 

Then he turned around, climbed on the windowsill, and jumped out of the other side. 

Oliver stepped closer to look, but the boy had already disappeared on the other side. 

Oliver realised only later, after washing himself and getting dressed, that he’d neglected to ask Elio how they would see each other again. He berated himself in his mind, resolving to try and find Marzia, somehow, to ask her. The girl had still seemed amenable to help them, after all. 

There was no public function for another day for him to attend, but Oliver expected to see Orestes that day, and as much as he didn’t feel like speaking to him he couldn’t exactly avoid him for much longer without it becoming suspicious. 

And, as Oliver had guessed, Orestes was waiting for him in the Main Hall. 

Oliver wore his best poker face, forced himself to smile as if everything was completely fine. 

“I trust you’ve had time to write,” Orestes asked, a smile on his face also. He seemed normal, acted just like usual, and Oliver told himself to stop reading too much into his expression. 

“Yes. Yes I did, thank you.”

“I know you were initially told there wasn’t anything planned for today. But, actually, we’d like to show you something. In fact, Elio would.”

Oliver frowned. He brought his glass of water to his lips, busying himself with taking a drink from it.

“Elio?”

“Yes. Our Dear Chosen One will take part in a small ceremony this evening, in the Third Hall. Only a selected few are invited - you are one of them.”

Oliver cleared his throat. This was complete news for him, nothing that Elio had mentioned. He chanced a look at Orestes, but he knew he couldn’t expect to have clarity by looking at the man’s face - he was a master at pretence, at hiding. He knew Elio didn’t care about these ceremonies, he knew that he wouldn’t have told him unless asked. 

Oliver swallowed. Perhaps Marzia would be in attendance; perhaps that was an opportunity to ask her to help him with Elio. 

“Sure,” Oliver nodded. Brought the glass of water to his lips again. “Sure, I think that would be useful. For my work.”

“Excellent,” Orestes patted him on the shoulder and stood. “We will see you there, then.” 

Once Orestes left, Oliver took a long breath. 

He needed to think of a plan. In two days now, Elio would be joined to Cesar, would become his, would have to sleep with him - Oliver felt like shivering, with disgust and rage, just thinking about it. He needed to think of a way of getting the boy and himself out of there, without either of them getting killed, somehow. 

He sat back, his eyes following the frenzy of movement coming from the village, the Arcadians always busy with various preparations, much like bees, constantly in motion. 

Oliver sighed, and then stood, deciding to head back to his lodging. He had been thinking of a possible way to escape; it needed some more work, it needed some more planning. And if he got to see Elio, that night, then perhaps he could talk to him about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all your comments!!! X


	14. Chapter 14. Blood-red flowers

The Third Hall was quiet when Oliver arrived. 

He was expecting some people, although Orestes had said the event was to be attended only by a few - but there was no one. 

The room was bathed in a soft light. There was a smell in the air, a nice fragrance, like incense. Oliver had never been there before, and he looked around, at the walls that were painted much like the other halls in the village, except themed differently: the lower paintings, the ones nearer to the ground, depicted people rather than nature and animals. Couples - some wearing white, some naked. Men and women, women and women, men and men. Some held hands. Some embraced. 

Higher up above, more people were depicted, except the scenes became more explicit. There were nude bodies, one in the arms of the other, on top of the other, laying down on beds made of leaves or straddling their partner, the act of sex obvious in their positions. 

Frowning, Oliver walked deeper inside. 

There were flowers, on the ground. Near the wall, next to candles lit up, and dishes of what he now realised was incense burning. He looked around himself, thinking that perhaps he’d arrived early. 

And yet, his gut warned him something didn’t sound right. 

He heard the sound of a side door opening, and then footsteps, and when he looked towards the noise, he saw Anthea. Walking slowly towards him, stopping in front of him. She was wearing a cape, similar to the one Elio wore the night before, but heavier. Made of velvet. 

It was dark green, and tied over her chest. On her head she wore a crown of blood-red flowers. 

“Anthea? What’s going on?” Oliver asked, frowning deeper. 

The girl did not respond. She kept her eyes looking into his, and then, slowly, her fingers flew to the tie on her chest, undoing it. The two pieces of string separated quickly, pulled down by the weight of the velvet, and the cape fell off Anthea’s shoulders, landing on the ground with a muted sound. 

Underneath, Anthea was naked. 

“Wait, what is this?” Oliver asked, taking a step back. 

“I am your Assigned. It is time, now, Oliver.”

Anthea took a few steps towards him. She looked beautiful, her body full, womanly. Her breasts pale, her mouth painted red. Her long hair fell in waves over her shoulders. 

She smelled good, like flowers and incense and something else, and her hands reached out to hold Oliver’s face when she was closer, near enough that their mouths almost touched. 

“It is time. For us,” she whispered, sultry. Seductive. 

His hands hanging by his sides, Oliver stood, trying to understand what was going on, confused, and almost didn’t notice Anthea’s lips so close to his, almost touching his, until it had already happened.

He reacted, grasping the girl’s hands on his face, pulling them down and taking another step back. 

“What are you doing?”

“We need to sleep together, Oliver,” Anthea replied, as if it was the most natural, the most obvious thing in the world. 

“No, we don’t. No,” Oliver could only protest, taking another step back. 

What the devil was this, now. 

“You are a very difficult man.”

For a moment, Oliver could not believe he heard Orestes’s voice. Until he saw him, until he realised he’d heard the noise of the door opening again, the muted creak of the wood against the hinges. 

“Anthea is our most beautiful girl of age. The best Assigned one could have. And we thought you were enjoying her, so far.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Oliver growled, narrowing his eyes at the man. His heart started beating faster, anger pumping adrenaline through his veins. 

“Well, you never said no when she was looking after you,” Orestes shrugged. He took a few more steps towards them. “Why would you say no to her now?”

Oliver looked from him, to Anthea, still standing nude between them, now looking down, contrite, as if saddened to have failed in her seduction. 

This was madness. 

“What the hell is this?” Oliver asked, his voice raised. “Explain!”

“Oliver, this is the Third Hall. It’s the Hall of Prosperity.”

“Enough with this bullshit!” Oliver raised his voice again, gesturing with his hand, full of frustration. He wanted to walk forward, towards Orestes, but then nothing would have stopped from punching the man in the face. 

“- It’s the Hall of Prosperity,” Orestes continued, his eyebrows raised, as if he was a teacher trying to tame a tantrumming, ignorant pupil. “It’s where we exchange with each other. It’s where we give ourselves to each other. Where Elio will give himself to Cesar, tomorrow.”

Oliver set his jaw, wanted to growl low in his throat.

“Don’t you understand what a privilege this is, for you to sleep with such a beautiful member of our community, in the Third Hall?”

“Sleep with her?” Oliver snarled. “Sleep with her? Who said I would? Who asked for my opinion? Are you all insane?”

“We didn’t think you’d say no,” Orestes laughed, clapped his hands together, as if it was a light joke, a funny misunderstanding - an entertaining game. 

It was becoming scarier and scarier, instead. 

Oliver was breathing hard. Finding it hard to control his rage.

“You are insane,” he said, closing his hands into fists. “You’re insane.”

And what Orestes did next certainly proved Oliver’s idea. 

The man’s face changed, instantly, from light and laughing to serious. Severe. Solemn. 

His expression was tense, tight. His mouth set, teeth almost grinding together. 

“You do prefer to fuck our Chosen One, instead, don’t you.”

It was like a stab to his chest, and Oliver had to take a moment to breathe, to realise what Orestes had just said. 

“What-“

“Yes, you do. I bet he feels nice, doesn’t he? Nice and young, and beautiful, putty in your hands, for you to do whatever you want with him just because he’s whorish enough to let you.”

Oliver had never heard Orestes use that much vitriol in his tone. He didn’t even think Orestes ever allowed himself to, always so controlled, so abiding to the rules. 

He felt his blood run cold through his veins at his words. 

There was no point in denying, now. 

“What do you want,” Oliver said only. 

“What I want,” Orestes started. His face still serious, save from an eerie, polite smile painted over his lips. “What we want, is for you to honour the hospitality that Arcadia has given you so far. For you to fulfil your promise to Anthea. Don’t you see, she’s put red flowers in her hair? Not once you’ve told her you didn’t want it.”

Yes. Yes, they were insane. This whole community, this man, the girl in front of him. They were crazy, out of their minds, a cult of the worst kind. 

“How was I supposed to know-“ Oliver tried to reply. But Orestes interrupted him. 

“You knew!” He screamed, like he’d never done before, like Oliver didn’t even think he was able to, and his eyes bulged out with his rage. “You knew, and now you have to sleep with her! It’s the rules!”

Oliver looked away. He wanted to scream, he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

It’s the rules. 

“You do understand that I don’t have to abide by any of your mad rules,” he turned around, responded to Orestes, in a voice that sounded like a sneer. “I am not part of this - of this group of lunatics. Of this coven! I don’t have to do anything I don’t want.”

“I suppose you don’t mind Elio losing his life, then.”

Orestes’s words were cold. Cutting, like a knife. Oliver felt their edge, right up to his throat, the sharpness taking his breath away. He widened his eyes, stared at Orestes.

“I suppose you’re fine with us doing whatever we want to that boy. After what you did to him, after what he let you do, do you think it would be much of a loss? Do you think Cesar would care?”

He was the one to sneer, this time. 

“If you don’t do what we ask you, Elio will die. If you don’t do what we ask you, I will tell Cesar, and then everyone will know. And then there will only be one thing to do: kill him. In front of everyone. Slit his throat. Slice him open. Take out the bastard child you’ve put in that little whore.”

His eyes were shining. Bloodshot. Oliver could not look away, even though his heart was hammering in his chest, even though his hands trembled, with rage and with immense, obliterating terror. 

“I know what you are thinking,” Orestes said, held his hands together behind his back. “You could kill me, now, right? Yes, good idea. But there’s guards everywhere, here. Behind every door. There’s eyes on you, Oliver. You wouldn’t survive, and then Elio won’t, either.”

Oliver looked to the side, for a moment, fully expecting the mad man in front of him to be bluffing - and yet, there they were, two tall, large men, dressed in grey, standing by the door Orestes and Anthea had come in from. They’d made no noise, Oliver hadn’t even seen them. 

There was only one thing he could do. 

“I will do it.” He took a breath, nodded. “I will do it. Whatever you need me to do. If you give me your word that Elio won’t be harmed.”

Orestes smiled, and it was eeriest smile Oliver had ever seen. 

He gave a long nod with his head. 

“Of course. Of course, I give you my word.”

Oliver’s heart was still beating insanely fast, so fast that he felt light headed. But he needed to keep his wits about him. He needed to be strong.

He needed to do this. 

“Can I speak with Marzia, please”, Oliver whispered urgently, to the girl who came to the door in the Second Hall. He’d never seen her before - she was young, perhaps twelve years of age. Oliver was fairly sure she had no idea who he was. 

She collected Marzia soon enough, and the girl stepped out, pulled Oliver under a canopy outside. Luckily, it was late night, and they had the darkness to help them. 

“Elio is in danger,” Oliver said, quietly, but his voice was so full of anxiety he couldn’t even breathe. “I need to see him, please Marzia. Now.”

Marzia’s eyes were sad, her mouth pursed in worry - and Oliver knew he didn’t need to explain. 

“Come with me,” she whispered back, walked to the door again, pulled him inside. 

Marzia led him through an unlit corridor, which she obviously knew very well, and Oliver tried to follow her in the dark as best as he could. 

“This is a room that only me and some other Helpers know about,” Marzia whispered, using a key to unlock a heavy door. Once opened, it led to a very small room, windowless, empty save from blanket on the floor. There were books on the ground, too; piles and piles. 

“We haven’t told anyone because we come here to read the forbidden books. The ones we manage to get from the outside world.” 

She walked to the corner of the room, picked up an oil lamp. Lit it, placed it back on the floor, the room filling with a soft light. 

“If they ever found out, I - “ Marzia said, shook her head, avoiding Oliver’s eyes. A flicker of sheer fear passed through her dark brown irises, but a moment later they were steady again, determined. 

“You stay here. I’ll bring Elio to you.”

She waited for Oliver’s nod, and then left, closing the heavy door behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me! X


	15. Chapter 15. The Plan

When Elio appeared on the door, his eyes were wide, his cheeks reddened. He must have got there in haste, and he closed the door behind him carefully, obviously used to not making it slam, to not cause noise that would betray his presence in that room. 

“What happened?” he asked, his breathing quickened. 

“They know,” Oliver said only. 

“What - who,” the boy babbled, a frown knitting his eyebrows together. 

“Orestes. Orestes knows, about us.”

Elio’s eyes widened again, dark in the shadows from the flickering lamp that sat on the floor. He swallowed. 

“I - I didn’t say anything. Oliver, you have to believe me, I didn’t tell. I didn’t.”

“I know, I know,” Oliver spoke quickly, shook his head, took a step forward, closer to Elio. “I know it wasn’t you.”

He held Elio’s eyes. They were still wide, he still looked at Oliver as if this was all a joke, a huge mistake. As if he was waiting for Oliver to own up, tell him he was just trying to scare him. 

And scared, he was indeed. His chest pumped air, fast. His eyes were bright.

But he set his jaw, pursed his lips, obviously trying to bring back his hard exterior, the facade of toughness he’d grown to display. 

It looked so out of place with him there, cornered like an animal captured, thin and small even though he didn’t want to look it. 

“What did they do to you?” Elio asked. Whispered. His voice almost failing him, as he still fought to breathe properly. 

“I’m fine,” Oliver said - but Elio took a step towards him this time. He was biting his lower lip, hard. 

“Did they hurt you? What did they do?”

He seemed on the verge of a panic attack, the way his chest could not control his breaths, the way it seemed to not grasp enough air. He looked pale, even in the dark of the room, and Oliver wondered exactly what horrors this kid had had to witness, to endure, even, to be so terrified,what trauma had hurt him that deeply. He seemed to get more agitated the longer he had to wait for Oliver’s answer, and the older man took pity, shook his head also, reassured. 

“I’m fine,” he said again. “I’m fine. They didn’t do anything, nothing happened to me. I’m fine.”

It was like Elio’s panic had built and was now deflating, with Oliver’s confession, with his promise, and the brightness in Elio’s eyes congealed into the whisper of tears gathering at their corners, ready to trickle down his cheeks, still reddened with fear.

Oliver could no longer just stand and watch. He reached out, took Elio’s face between his palms, gently. His fingers sinking into the boy’s thick, soft curls at his temples, down towards his nape. 

Oliver’s thumbs stroked the boy’s cheekbones slowly. 

“I’m okay,” he murmured, again. “You angel. I’m okay.”

He pulled Elio against himself, enveloping him into his arms. He felt him hide his face into his shoulder; he felt the tension in his body, still. Elio wasn’t letting himself cry, and Oliver really wanted to tell him that he could. 

“What did they do. Tell me,” Elio whispered against the fabric of Oliver’s shirt. His fists clutched clumps of the garment over Oliver’s shoulder blades. 

Oliver needed to be honest. 

“They called me into the Third Hall. Anthea was there, waiting for me. To sleep with me. Orestes said he knew about us, what we did. He said I needed to sleep with her.”

“Did you do it,” Elio’s voice was barely a whisper. He pressed his face harder into Oliver’s shoulder. 

“No. No. I told him I wouldn’t do it, until I knew you were safe. I told him I would do it tomorrow, when I got to see you, and that you were okay.”

He felt Elio tremble in his arms. A violent shudder, and the boy sobbed into Oliver’s chest, a sound of such misery that it made Oliver hold him tighter against himself. 

He closed his eyes, murmured into Elio’s curls. 

“I won’t do it.” He pulled back, took Elio’s cheeks in his hands again, nudging his face upwards to look into his eyes. “I won’t do it. Would never do it.”

Elio blinked, swallowed again, and his face tightened, lips pursed together into a thin line as he tried to steel himself back into his mask of indifference, but failed. 

“I have a plan,” Oliver continued, holding Elio’s gaze steadily. His thumb stroked away a stray tear that had made its way down Elio’s cheek. “But I want you to trust me. Can you?”

“Of course I trust you,” Elio said quickly. He licked his lips, wet with tears, an innocent gesture as his wide eyes still looked into Oliver’s, rapt. It made Oliver smile with tenderness. 

“I will leave, tonight. Late, when everyone is asleep. I will come back tomorrow, with a car, I will come back to you, and pick you up and we will escape together.”

“No, no,” Elio shook his head, urgently, his eyes panicked again. “No. I want to come with you. Take me with you.”

Oliver held his face tighter, stroked his cheeks again.

“Shh, shh. Elio. Listen to me. It’s not safe, with the guards. Should they see us, they’ll - they’ll kill us. They’ll kill you. They’ll chase after us, and on foot it won’t be easy to outrun them. But with a car, I can - I’ll take you away.”

“But what - what are you going to do, with the guards, what if they see you, what if - what if they hurt you.” Elio’s voice was newly urgent. Newly terrified. 

“I will be fine. I’ve had the time to - work out a way. I’ve watched them, the guards by the south entrance, the ones I can see from my window. I know their timings. You have to trust me.”

Elio looked at him. His eyes were still wide, but they had hardened. He swallowed again. “I want to come with you,” he repeated. 

“I’m not putting you in danger. They won’t let you leave - they won’t care about me, they’ll go for you. They’ll want to kill you. Please, trust me. I’ll come back for you. In a few hours, I will come back for you.”

Oliver looked down, into the boy’s eyes that were looking up into his, staring. He held his gaze, watching Elio swallow again, press his lips together, his breathing still fast but steadier than before. 

And then, Elio lifted up, on tiptoes. And joined their mouths into a kiss. 

Oliver held his face, sighed into him, opening his own lips and deepening the kiss. He’d missed him, he’d missed kissing him, even thought it had only been hours since they’d last done it. 

Elio kissed him with force, with determination. With hunger. Oliver let him take the lead, let him moan softly into his mouth, his breathing changing from fearful to demanding, to being led by desire. 

Elio’s hands, urgent, skimmed his shirt and down his chest to his trousers, undid his belt. Opened them to push them down Oliver’s legs. He took off his own shirt and pants while Oliver divested himself of his own remaining clothes, his brain short-circuiting now, too, his whole body weak to Elio’s smell, his want. 

Oliver was taller, and stronger, and Elio was a waif in comparison, and Oliver lifted him up, Elio’s thighs wrapping around his hips, and carried him to the wall, propping him gently against it, making sure to not hurt him. They kept kissing, and kissing, didn’t stop even when Oliver pushed into him. 

They fucked fast, and then slower, breathing into each other’s mouth, Oliver growling in response to each of Elio’s cries. When it became too much, Elio just held his fingers deep into Oliver’s hair, threw his head back against the wall, his pale throat on show, and moaned as he came. Oliver could only groan back, and sink his teeth into the delicate skin of Elio’s collarbone, thrust his hips forward in one last push. 

His body shuddered; his orgasm taking over every cell of his skin, of his limbs, of his brain. 

He held Elio steady in his arms; kissed the skin that he’d bitten. 

And then he stepped back. Slowly, carefully, placed the boy on the ground, over the blankets on the floor. Lied down, on top of him, letting Elio’s arms wrap around his chest, breathing with him. 

Waiting for their heartbeats to slow down. 


	16. Chapter 16. The guards

Oliver woke not long after, and Elio followed suit, roused by Oliver moving and by the rustling of the blanket. 

He was still naked, and Oliver kissed his forehead, pulled back to look the boy in the face. They’d only known each other a matter of days, and yet he felt so close, so protective of him already. 

“I have to go,” he murmured quietly, searching for Elio’s eyes in the darkness of that tiny room. “My plan, remember?”

He waited until Elio, still sleepy, nodded. Then he reached out, took his lips in a kiss again. He hoped to be able to kiss him again soon, but just in case; he needed this. 

They put their clothes back on in silence, and then Elio took a deep breath, looked at Oliver, and visibly steeled himself. He opened the door, stepped outside, into the long corridor that led to the exit. 

“Let me leave first,” Oliver said, holding Elio back gently by his wrist. “Wait for a bit, and then leave after. Just in case. I will come back at dawn. Come to the South Entrance. I will be waiting there.”

Elio’s face had gone tense again, a frown connecting his eyebrows, but the boy nodded and let Oliver walk ahead. 

They padded along the hallway in silence until they reached the end; and then Oliver, with one last look to Elio, stepped out. 

Like in a bad dream, where things happen all of a sudden and yet seemingly in slow motion, two grey guards appeared in front of him, out of nowhere. 

Oliver stopped, schooled his expression into neutrality, fully expecting the worst but prepared to give away nothing. 

“What were you doing?” one of the guardsasked. He was brandishing a weapon. A rifle - Oliver wondered where these people acquired and kept these things. 

“I didn’t know I was supposed to check in with the guards if I wanted to walk around,” Oliver replied, but stood still, not wanting to risk it. These people were crazy after all. 

“You’re not walking around,” the guard said, the rifle trained on Oliver. “You were somewhere. Tell us what you were doing.”

Oliver sighed. Looked from one guard to the other. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I was just walking around,” he said. He wasn’t scared, not for himself; but he didn’t want Elio to get caught up in this. He hoped the boy could hear, and stayed in hiding until after this annoyance had subsided. “Now, can I go back to my lodging?”

“Who were you going to see?” the guard insisted, rifle still pointed at Oliver’s head. The other one raised his weapon too. 

“I wasn’t going to see anyone,” Oliver spoke slowly.

“You’re lying,” the guard said, his voice raised. 

Oliver kept his features as relaxed as he could, his voice level. 

“I’m not lying. Why would I? And now, I would like to go to bed, if you don’t mind.”

He’d thought that by acting as normal as possible they would be convinced; seeing as there was no evidence to the contrary, he hoped they would not pursue the matter. He took a step towards his hut; but all he heard, then, was a loud bang. A gunshot. It was fired to the ground, just inches from his feet. 

Oliver stopped, froze. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The guard’s voice was hard; his tone, final. 

Oliver took a deep breath, tried to think of something to say to get out of the situation. Quickly. 

“I told him to leave.”

Elio’s voice cut the air then. Oliver’s heart skipped a beat, and he turned towards theentrance to the hallway, where Elio was standing, face rigid, hands into fists. 

He felt panic rise into his chest. Elio, no.

“Fetch Orestes,” the guard told his comrade at seeing Elio, evidently something he’d been asked to do in this circumstance. He held his rifle trained on Oliver, but kept looking at the both of them, his face hard.

“I told him to leave. I don’t want him here anymore,” Elio continued, a little more in haste now. “He shouldn’t be here. He’s not good for our community. It was a mistake. You should let him go, now.”

Oliver was so frozen, so shocked, so scared, that for a few long moments he could not speak. He didn’t know what to say, afraid anything that came out of his mouth could harm Elio instead of protecting him. 

And then it was one more moment before two more guards returned. One of them caught Elio by the arms, pulled them back and held his wrists, jostling him in the movement, and yet Elio didn’t react to the manhandling, kept his face hard, his eyes focused. 

“Elio,” Oliver could not help but call. 

And finally, the boy looked at him. 

“I told you to leave,” he said. His face not betraying any emotion. “Leave this village, now.” 

Oliver breathed. His hands tight in fists along his sides. Staring at the guards pointing rifles at him, at Elio who was holding his gaze, while he was captive, held back by those men, and looking nothing like the boy he knew.

“You should do as he says.” 

Orestes voice came to him, suddenly, and Oliver moved his eyes, with great effort, from Elio to the older man who now stood next to the guards. His face was just as inexpressive as Elio’s; but then Orestes moved. In two strides, he was on Elio. His hand holding the boy’s face, his chin and his cheeks, forcing him to look up. 

“You little whore. You slut. You shame us all. You keep shaming us all, with no regrets!”

His voice was like that of a snake, full of repressed rage, his teeth grinding, and then he let Elio go only to hit him hard, across the face, across his mouth, with the back of his hand. The boy only closed his eyes, being restrained and unable to move, but not looking like he would have done anything to defend himself, anyway. 

“Do you think Cesar will want you now?” Orestes continued, snarling. “Do you think anyone will want you now??”

“Fuck you,” Elio growled quietly at that, defiant as ever- and that of course only earned him another backhand, harder than the first. 

“He didn’t do anything!”

The guards trained their guns onto Oliver’s head, from where they were pointed at his chest, when he spoke. Orestes turned to look at him, body tense, his grey eyes full of hatred and anger. 

“It was me. I forced myself on him. This is why he wanted me to leave. He didn’t want to do anything, I was the one who assaulted him.”

He took a step towards them, raised his hands in surrender. 

“Stay back!” The guard shouted. 

“Orestes. This is my confession. It wasn’t Elio’s fault. He rejected me, I assaulted him. You can tell Cesar, you can tell everyone. It was me.”

Oliver set his jaw. Held Orestes’s hard, distrusting eyes. Ignored the guards with their rifles pointed at his head. Looked at Elio, at his bruised cheeks; at his trembling lip. 

He wasn’t going to go without a fight. 


	17. Chapter 17: the Red Camellia

The guards dragged him quickly away, but Oliver wasn’t scared of them. 

He kept his eyes on Elio, and on Orestes, for as long as he could as he was forced to walk by the two burly men who had him by his biceps, thinking in his head that he would somehow break free, he didn’t even know how, if Orestes tried to hit Elio again. 

Soon, though, they were out of sight. Oliver was led down a flight of stairs, to a dark, damp hallway. Later, he would think he hadn’t thought Arcadia even had underground infrastructures; he hadn’t thought this place had prisons. 

And yet, it did. 

Oliver was forced into one of the cells, in a sort of makeshift room roughly carved beneath ground. The guards locked the cell door behind them, and left without a word. Oliver looked around: there were five more cells in there, just as narrow and claustrophobic as his, but all empty. 

He wondered what had happened to the people who’d been in there. 

He didn’t know how long he spent there, sat down on the ground, thinking. He was frankly exhausted. But then there was a noise, like that of a heavy door being opened, and Oliver looked up, his senses on high alert. 

His eyes widened when he saw who it was. 

“Elio??” he called, incredulous. 

“Oliver,” Elio replied, quietly. He walked down to the bars of Oliver’s cell, looked up at him. “What did you do! Why did you have to do this.”

He looked pale, aside from the red on his cheek, yet another consequence of the violence he suffered at the hands of the Elders. He was wearing a white tunic that wrapped around his thin frame, making him look even smaller; Oliver sighed, knowing that Elio’s outburst was just rhetorical. 

“I wasn’t going to stand there, and let them hurt you again,” he replied, walking to the bars himself, holding onto them with his hands. 

Elio took a step back, set his jaw. 

“You’re crazy. You’re crazy, and irrational, and - now you’re in here, now they have you captive. You shouldn’t have done that,Oliver, you shouldn’t have.”

Elio kept his voice flat, his usual commanding tone there, but there was something underneath - the fear, the panic that Oliver had seen before in him. The worry and the insecurity. 

Oliver swallowed, softened his expression. 

“I wasn’t going to let them punish you for this. I brought you into this. I’m in this, too.” 

He spoke softly. He gazed at the boy; wished he’d come closer.

But Elio stood a few steps away, his hands in fists by his sides, his curls messy with the wind and the flower crown that he wasn’t wearing, that he had probably rid himself of in haste. 

“How did you get in here,” Oliver asked then, quietly, when Elio’s breathing didn’t slow, when he held his gaze, frowning, Oliver almost able to hear his accelerated heartbeat. 

“They locked me in one of the empty Elders rooms. But all the buildings are connected by tunnels - they don’t know that we all know this. We know the pathways much better than all of them do.”

There was a light in Elio’s eyes as he said this, one of mischief, of rebellion. One that was so Elio, so evident in everything he did. Oliver smiled gently, feeling tenderness starting to fill his chest again. 

Elio took a step closer to Oliver behind the bars, then another one. He was still frowning, and now he bit his lower lip, reddened with his teeth and the dry air. Looked into Oliver’s eyes. 

“They think I might be pregnant.” 

“Wh- What?” 

“They think I might be pregnant. They don’t know for sure, of course, they’re just - we have a way, here in Arcadia, of telling the future, a kind of omen reading.” The boy looked down, closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was afraid Oliver might judge him for saying what he was about to. “They’ve had a red middlemist camellia flower in the orchard.”

“I - I don’t understand -“

Elio sighed. 

“It’s a rare flower that according to our history only blooms when the child of the Chosen One is on its way.” He shook his head. “Look, you know how things are. Here. So much hearsay, so much superstition. I - don’t know, I don’t know if I’m pregnant, but I just wanted to tell you this.” He hesitated a moment. 

Oliver took a breath. His heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. Elio. Pregnant? Elio pregnant by him. Elio, pregnant with his child.

“I wish I could - tear down these bars, let you out, somehow. I would do it,” Elio said when Oliver did not say a word, and shook his head miserably. “But I can’t break the lock. Marzia - we’ve tried before. We got - punished, and the person - we still never saw them again.”

“Elio, I - wait,” Oliver’s fingers twitched as they held on to the bars. He wanted to touch Elio, so badly. “Wait - I’m not going to put you in danger again.”

Elio held his eyes. And Oliver could see the shift, the moment in which the boy’s expression hardened, steeled, even though his eyes were red-rimmed. 

“I will sleep with Cesar, tonight.” Elio’s voice was just a breath. “Orestes and the child carer haven’t told him, what they think - that I might be pregnant. If I sleep with him, if I can convince him that I will have his child, that you didn’t do anything, then they might let you go. I will make sure they do.”

“No, Elio,” Oliver raised his voice, tightened his fists around the bars. “No, Elio, this is madness. You can’t - you shouldn’t have to. I won’t let you.”

Elio looked even paler, as he held Oliver’s eyes, storming with emotions. 

“There’s nothing you can do,” the boy shook his head. “This is the best solution. And then you’ll be free. And you’ll be able to go, you’ll be safe.”

“And what about you?” Oliver raised his voice again, adrenaline cursing through his veins now, his blood both boiling and freezing at the thought of Elio having to sacrifice himself that way. “What’s going to happen to you? You won’t be safe, you’ll be in danger, you - you’ll have to force yourself into something you don’t want.” 

Elio shook his head, very gently. His jaw tense; his eyes resigned.

“It’s been written in my future since I was born.” His voice was flat; eerily calm. Heartbreaking. “But at least I’ll know that you are okay.”

He took a step towards Oliver again. When he was close enough, he rose on tiptoes, and kissed Oliver through the bars. On the mouth, soft, slowly. 

He kissed him for a few seconds and then, with one final look, his eyes red, he stepped back, and turned around, disappearing back into the darkness of that prison hall. 


	18. Chapter 18: JULES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to get the story going and to get myself back to it. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to update - again, so much happening in my real life that I had to sort out. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this, please do leave me a comment and let me know what you think. Will work to update really soon!

Oliver stalked the small area of the cell he was kept a prisoner in, his hands into fists, jaw set and rigid, and thoughts all over the place.

His heart was beating fast, and he tried to think of something, anything, that he could do to stop that situation that kept spiralling and spiralling into doom. But there was nothing he could do while he was locked away underground. And so, frustration dictating his movements and thought process, he walked back to the bars, wrapped his fists around the cold metal, and screamed.

“Hey! Hey!!” his voice croaked. “Somebody! Let me out! Let me out, right now!”

Only his own voice, returning as echo, replied. Full of anger and frustration, Oliver wanted to punch a wall, in lieu of Orestes perhaps, or Cesar. But he didn’t give in to it. He was not going to be any good to anyone, including himself, with a bleeding, broken fist.

He set his jaw. Aside from his own breathing, he could not hear anything; silence reigned.

With a sigh, he walked to the corner of the cell, sat down, his back against the stony wall, his hands in his hair. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep for, nor how had he fallen asleep in the first place. But when he batted his eyelids open, and tried to swallow, his throat was parched and dry; his eyes zoned to the bowl of water near the wall of the cell - who had put it there? He was sure there was nothing in its place when he first arrived - and he pulled himself up to walk to it, drinking the water quickly. Whoever had left the water had also left a piece of bread, right next to it on the floor, but Oliver was not going to eat that. He didn’t even feel hungry; he just felt anxious. Angry. Worried. 

He couldn’t tell how long it’d been, but he was sure that by now, the night had come and gone. Elio must have had to do what he’d planned, by now.

“Oliver.”

It was a voice he did not recognise. Oliver looked beyond the bars of his cell, all his senses alert, and saw someone - thin, with long blonde hair, almost white, face pale too. Wearing a long, immaculate white dress, walking barefoot. 

Oliver had not recognised the voice, but he knew who that was - Jules, Elio’s new Helper.

“What do you want,” Oliver’s reaction was instinctive. He did not trust Jules; she’d never done anything to be trusted, to help them, to help Elio.

Jules stopped in front of him, on the other side of the bars. She was, seriously, so thin; her eyelashes were as white as her hair, her lips pursed into a line, pale also. It made her look like a ghost, like an apparition.

“I am going to unlock the door.”

Oliver had to blink, thought he’d heard wrong, thought he’d gone delirious. What?

“I know you don’t trust me, you don’t know me. But Elio needs help. And I want to help him.”

She spoke slowly, quietly, in a whisper, as if she feared being heard by someone above ground, even though she was barely speaking loud enough for Oliver to hear. 

Oliver had to blink again, still in shock.

Jules’s expression did not change. She took another step closer to the bars, then reached out a hand towards the lock. Pressed a sequence of buttons on it - a code. For all their living by traditions and hearsay, the Arcadians could be quite modern when they wanted to. 

The lock gave way, letting the door of the cell open.

“Come on,” Jules said, and now she was urgent. Oliver, however, still couldn’t trust her, could not trust this sudden change of heart. Hesitated. 

But in the end, she had opened his cell. Whatever she was planning on doing, whoever was waiting for Oliver as soon as he left, this was his only chance at getting out, at trying to go to Elio. Oliver decided he was willing to take the risk.

“The Second Hall,” Jules whispered, when he had already started walking away from her. “The room at the end of the corridor.”

Oliver stopped walking for a moment, considered whether to reply; then, he only sighed. Started again towards the exit. Once he got back up, back to the surface, he was going to run if he needed to.

“And Oliver. I’m sorry.”

Jules’s tone was that of a goodbye - but what she said made Oliver stop, turn around towards her. She was still standing in the same place, barefoot, thin, ghost-like. Her face was now contorted in sorrow. 

Oliver frowned, tilted his head at her.

“It was you?”

“I thought I had to. I thought I had to spy on Elio, I thought I had to tel them what he was doing. I thought it was my job. They told me it was for the good of the village.” She stopped, hesitated. “I - forgot what happened to me.”

Oliver still frowned. Held his eyes on the girl, hard. Equally angry, uncomprehending, and completely unsurprised.

But he had things to do. He had to hurry. He turned around, the stone ground cold under his feet, and followed the tunnel towards the outside world. 


	19. Chapter 19. The promise

To Oliver’s surprise, there was nobody outside, waiting to catch him trying to escape.

It was night time, and there was nobody around the clearing in the village, either; Oliver walked quickly, not sure of his destination, only certain he needed to find Elio, somehow.

He reached the Second Hall, and knocked softly at the side entrance, the one he always met Marzia at. His brain was on overdrive, and he didn’t really have a plan, he just hoped, hoped; and even though it was the middle of the night, the same young girl as last time opened the door, still dressed in white, looking awake and alert as if it were the middle of the day instead.

“Please, could you call Marzia? I need to speak to her.” Oliver mused whether to add something to keep up the charade - it’s for my book. But really, now - was it really needed? Was he really still on time to still do that? 

The girl either didn’t care, or she didn’t know anything about what was going on, because she didn’t react, only asked him to wait and disappeared back into the hall. And a moment later Marzia’s slender hand grabbed his wrist, pulled him inside with urgency.

“How did you -“ Marzia babbled, her brown eyes wide and disbelieving. “How are you here, what happened?”

“There’s no time to explain,” Olive cut her short. “I need to get to Elio - do you know where he is?”

“I - I don’t know.” Marzia was looking at him, evidently at a loss. 

And then suddenly, Oliver had a thought. A feeling.

“Can you take me to the secret place,” he said, though he didn’t know if that was indeed what the place was referred to, he really didn’t think so, but he just hoped Marzia would understand. 

He could tell she had more questions but he saw the girl swallow, remain quiet but nod, and then she started walking. Oliver followed, just as quiet as her.

He didn’t know why he had thought Elio might be there. By all accounts, he shouldn’t be. 

But by all accounts Oliver shouldn’t be out of his prison either. He decided to trust his instincts.

And he was rewarded.

They saw a light, in the room, from a candle, as soon as Marzia knocked on the door, the sequence of raps that was their code amongst the group.

Elio looked up from where he was sat on the makeshift mattress on the floor, his eyes just as wide as Marzia’s had been when she saw Oliver. He was clutching a book in his hands, crouched and reading in the tenuous light of the candle, but he stood as soon as he saw Oliver, his mouth opening in surprise.

Oliver walked over, with no pause, no hesitation. He took Elio’s face into his hands, and kissed him. 

“How - how did you escape,” Elio asked, minutes later. When they were sitting on the mattress, huddled together, after kissing, frantic, for long minutes, Oliver’s arms all around him. Marzia had left them alone.

“Jules.” Oliver pushed his nose into Elio’s curls, smelled his scent.

“Ah.” Elio took a breath.

“I don’t know why, I don’t know why she decided to help. And I don’t care, either. I just wanted to get to you.”

Elio reached up with a hand, tangled his fingers into Oliver’s hair at his nape.

“She - Jules, they treated her really badly. She used to - she wasn’t who she is now. Growing up, she was - male. A boy.”

Oliver breathed into Elio’s hair.

“Oh.”

“She was older than me, we didn’t spend time together, but I know she came here, read tons of books, those we took from the outside world. Learnt about - about gender, about identity, about - how she didn’t need to be what they told her to be.” Elio sighed. Then he bit his thumb, frowning, thinking. “When they found out, they found her with a book, they burned it.They asked what was going on, they - I don’t know what they did. From some of her peers I learnt that they made - kind of a deal, and since then - since then, she was a different person. A girl, but also - on their side. Reporting for them, working for them. Watching us.”

“It must have been very difficult for her. These people are crazy.” 

Oliver felt a little strange making such a comment - after all, Elio was part of this community. Not on their side, not following their precepts, of course, but still - he had been raised by them, he hadn’t known anything else aside from what he could read from stolen books kept hidden from the elders. 

And yet, Elio just nodded. Almost smiled, a tiny smirk shaping his rosy lips. 

“We need to go. Somehow, we need to get out of here,” Oliver murmured urgently in Elio’s hair, his eyes still closed. 

He felt the boy nod again; and then, he spoke. 

“Make love to me first.”

Oliver would have wanted to protest, not to the request itself, of course, but he would have wanted to say that there was no time - and yet, when Elio kissed him, his eyes still closed, blindly seeking and finding the older man’s mouth, Oliver could not say anything. He kissed his young lover back, with passion and with so much relief, with gratitude because he hadn’t thought he’d see him again. 

He followed him down when Elio lay back on the mattress, inviting Oliver between his legs. Oliver stroked him, with a large hand, from the boy’s throat all the way down to his side and his hips. Held his palm against Elio’s abdomen, for a few long moment. Wondered if his child was really growing inside him. 

“Fuck me. Please, Oliver,” Elio begged then, his voice rough, low. He looked right into Oliver’s eyes, his own green irises focused, expectant. 

Oliver felt himself almost crumbling under such an intense gaze. 

He slid his hand back up along Elio’s body,lifted his light shirt up, and over his head, and then brought his thumb to caress a nipple, to try and break the tension in the boy’s body. And Elio closed his eyes; gasped, quietly. 

Oliver kissed him again, as he worked to free the both of them of their trousers. When they were both naked, Elio drew him back to himself for another kiss, widening his thighs to accommodate Oliver in between them; and then, he reached down, and guided Oliver inside. 

They both moaned, together. 

Elio was as much in charge as Oliver, and Oliver relished it. He loved Elio’s rebellious, independent nature, the spirit he maintained even having grown up in such a repressive community, and he certainly wasn’t planning of being the one to tame it down. 

“Fuck me,” Elio babbled against Oliver’s lips, as they rubbed their mouths together, breathed together. “Fuck me.”

And so Oliver did. 

His hips snapping, slower at the beginning then faster, harder, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pleasure pooling into his belly at the feeling that Elio looked like he could break, and yet knowing that he wouldn’t. 

Elio spurred him on, knew exactly what to say. 

“Harder, harder,” he chanted softly on the older man’s mouth. “Fuck. You’re so big.”

Oliver wasn’t going to last long, not like that, and he knew it, and yet he couldn’t stop nor he could slow down, hypnotised by Elio’s voice, by the warmth and velvet inside his body. He snapped his hips a few more times, until he felt his orgasm approaching, fast; until he came, breathing hard on Elio’s collarbone, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, against Elio’s skin. He just about had the presence of mind to remember that he was laying on the boy, and, with difficulty, he pulled himself up on his hands, hovering over him. When he pulled back, leaving his body, Elio grimaced slightly. 

“When we get out of here,” Oliver panted, “we’ll get condoms. We’ll use - they’re for-“

“I know what condoms are,” Elio said, smirked. His eyes flashing. “I know what they are, and I don’t want them.”

He pulled Oliver back down, for a kiss. And Oliver smiled against his mouth, bit that plump lower lip, a gentle, teasing reprimand; then he kissed down his body, until he reached the swell of his abdomen, and made him come with his mouth. 

“How are we going to get out of here,” Elio murmured, tiredly, against Oliver’s chest a few minutes later, as they lay, embracing, still naked.

“We just have to. We just have to try. We can’t stay here. I cannot leave you in the hands of these monsters.”

He felt Elio blink his long eyelashes. And then, the feel of the boy’s soft lips, pressing against his throat, in a kiss that was as much affection as it was a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t forget to leave me a comment! They keep me going! <3


	20. Chapter 20. The Truth

Oliver held onto Elio’s hand, and felt the boy squeeze his fingers back, as they left the secret place. He set his jaw, breathing deeply, but not slowing down his pace as they reached the exit. He didn’t know what could be there to wait for them outside, but at the same time, they needed to get out. No moment was better than any other, they couldn’t pretend they could guess the best time to try their escape, and so Oliver just made sure he held onto Elio tight and walked with surety, trying not to think.

And they were able to walk all the way past the Second Hall, before Orestes appeared.

“Out of my way,” Oliver did not hesitate, though he had to stop, stand almost in front of Elio, protective. 

A few steps away from him, Orestes didn’t flinch.

“I need to speak to Elio,” he said, not even looking at Oliver. “Elio, darling. Darling boy. I need to speak to you.”

“Get away from him!” Oliver roared, not softening his stance one bit. Orestes wasn’t moving, either, wasn’t attempting to come any closer, evidently believing the threat in Oliver’s body language and tone of voice.

Oliver squeezed Elio’s hand again. Found the boy calm, controlled; not shaking, not intimidated.

“I’m not speaking to him. Let’s go,” Elio murmured quietly. Oliver nodded - but he looked around before attempting to continue walking. He was sure Orestes must have guards, allies somewhere around there. He was way too cowardly to approach them on his own.

“Elio, darling boy.” Orestes’s voice had now gained a tone of begging. “Please listen to me. Don’t leave now. We want you to meet someone very important.”

Elio pursed his lips, didn’t even look at the man. Walked ahead of Oliver, holding onto his hand - and Orestes took one step towards them.

“Elio. We want you to meet your mother.”

At that, the young man stopped. He didn’t turn; didn’t react. Oliver could see the tension in his body, in his shoulders and his spine, felt like he could even hear the faster beating of his heart through the palms of their connected hands.

“You don’t know who my mother is,” Elio said. Still looking away. His voice was grave.

“I don’t know, no. But Cesar does. He will tell us.”

At that, Elio, finally, turned around. 

“How stupid do you think I am?” he said, and the lines of his normally lovely face were contracted into anger, fury. He let go of Oliver to clench his hands into fists at his sides. “Do you really think this is all it’ll take for me to change my mind, and let you force me to sleep with someone I hate? Let you make me stay here, let you hurt Oliver?”

“No one is going to hurt Oliver,” Orestes said urgently, his hands outstretched, palms up, pathetically begging still. “No one. We don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want him to be hurt. You will not be forced into anything. You have my word.”

“Your word is useless. I know you. I’ve known you all my life.” Elio’s teeth were still set, and Oliver watched him, in awe of the strength and courage the boy was showing. “I’m done. I’m done with you. I’m done with this.”

He turned around again, ready to keep walking, when Orestes spoke once more.

“If you go, you will never know who your mother is. You will never find her. She’s alive, she’s out there. She wants to see you.” Elio did not turn around, and the older man continued. “If you stay, you will meet her. You will be our Chosen One. You will be revered, and protected. With Oliver by your side.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Oliver was speechless, confused. He watched as Elio finally turned around, his face still contracted, full of tension.

“The world outside is the evil, you weren’t made for it. You were made to be our Chosen One. Our Chief. We don’t want to lose you, and if Oliver is your choice of companion then we will support it. Just don’t leave us,” Orestes continued.

Elio’s face contracted again, his mouth twisting into an incredulous, sneering smile.

“Why should I believe your trap?”

“It’s not a trap,” Orestes rushed to reply, his hands up again. “We will announce you and Oliver immediately. You will be protected. You will meet your mother.”

“She isn’t even from this village,” Elio rebutted.

“She isn’t. But Cesar has her name, Cesar knows who she is. He will be able to find her.”

Oliver was speechless. His fists tight, jaw set, he kept his gaze on Orestes. Looked around every now and then, because he was expecting guards, his soldiers who always did his bidding at once, ready to attack him and Elio - but there was nobody around aside from Orestes. 

It was suspicious to say the least- but Oliver just didn’t know enough about this community to ever guess what was really going on.

And the choice, ultimately, wasn’t his to make. 

“I want you to do it exactly what I ask,” Elio spoke after a few moments. His jaw still tense. “I want you to follow my requests, every detail of them.”

“Of course! Of course,” Orestes replied, his hands together, almost in pray.

“I want to choose my own guards. I want Marzia as my Helper. I want the key to my lodging.”

Orestes was nodding. “Yes, of course! Consider it done.”

“I want Oliver to be given the choice whether to stay or to leave,” Elio interrupted, raising his voice. He looked so much older than his mere seventeen years of age, right then. “And if he chooses to go, I want him safe. I want to send one of my guards with him. I don’t want any of you to follow him or hurt him in any way.”

Orestes nodded again. “Yes. Yes, sure.”

Elio looked towards Oliver, and then swallowed.

“If Oliver chooses to stay,” and here, he hesitated, as if talking about a very remote possibility, “if he chooses to stay, then I want you to announce him as my companion officially, immediately, to the whole village.”

“Yes,” Orestes nodded again.

Elio stood, still as a statue. His eyes fixed on Orestes. And Orestes, Oliver noticed, looked smaller, pathetic - as if defeated. 

But Oliver knew the older man felt like he had won.

“Now leave. I’ll speak to Oliver, and then I will come to the Second Hall with his decision.”

Elio kept his eyes on Orestes as the Elder frowned, but did as he had been asked - turning around, walking towards the Second Hall. 

Oliver still didn’t trust him.

“Elio,” he murmured, somehow finding his ability to speak again, after having stood speechless until now.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Elio started, his hand reaching out, as if to soften his words. “You don’t have to. I want you to decide based on what’s best for you.”

“What are you talking about,” Oliver came close, took hold of Elio’s forearm. Squeezed it lightly, though he wanted to shake Elio, make him come back to himself. “You can’t stay. I thought you wanted to leave, with me.”

Elio blinked, his eyes downturning for a moment. 

“I know what you’re thinking - but I know what I’m doing. I need to see my mother. I know she’s looking for me.”

“Elio, how do you...”

“They took me from her as a child. I wasn’t from this village - we lived somewhere else, though I can’t remember where. But I remember her. I was - three or four years old.”

Oliver breathed out. What?

“I thought you’d lived here since you were born.”

“Oliver, the Arcadians, the Elders - will do anything to preserve their stupid traditions. They needed someone like me, someone who could bear children, as a male, someone who could be their special Chosen One - and they didn’t have him. So they went to look for him. And they found me.”

“They... took you away?”

“They kidnapped me.” Elio didn’t look down. Held his eyes into Oliver’s, and they were hard. “I remember. I remember my mother crying. I remember what she looked like. She had dark hair, like me. They’d heard what I was, what - what I could do, and - they took me.”

“How do you know that they’re not lying,” Oliver tried.

“I’ll know,” Elio shook his head. “I’ll know. And if they’re lying, I will leave.” He paused a moment. “This is my only chance to find her. My mother. To find out what happened, to - know more about, everything. About myself, about myself for real. Not all the lies and the stories invented by them around me.”

When he raised his green eyes back up at Oliver, they were steely, determined. His face was tense, focused - he still looked older than his years.

And Oliver was worried; he was very worried. But what Elio had said, what he’d revealed - the pain behind it; his determination, and the fact that he knew way more than Oliver about the whole story - Oliver knew he didn’t have the right to stop him from making his own choice, and following through with it.

“I’ll stay with you,” he said, his voice steady.

“Oliver-“

“I’ve made my choice. I’ll be by your side, whatever you want to do.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t, I-“ Elio tried again. 

Oliver shook his head. And then took a step forward, cupped Elio’s cheek with a hand - and kissed him. Just his lips, for one moment, a long moment.

“Let me make my own decision,” he said, gently. Made himself smile, even though his heart was beating fast, even though he was worried. He could smile, if he still got to be by Elio’s side. “I’m not leaving you. I want to be with you. I love you.”

It had come so easy, to say those words. Oliver hadn’t even realised his feelings until now; hadn’t planned on saying them, but they had just come to him. 

And he felt his heart so full in seeing Elio smile back, in seeing his bright eyes blink.

“I love you too,” Elio murmured, and then came closer again, wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, kissed him.


	21. Chapter 21. The New Favourite

“Again,” Elio murmured, his mouth pressed against Oliver’s shoulder. He was smiling, his eyes closed, but the crinkles at their corners speaking of how playful he was being.

“We just finished five minutes ago,” Oliver said, his eyes closed too, but laying back, supine, his face towards the ceiling. 

The bed was soft. The mattress warm, and comfortable. He had never thought the Arcadians would receive such modern luxuries in their village, let alone use them - but then again, this was a community that didn’t exactly pride itself in the consistency of its beliefs.

Elio pulled up on his elbows, laying on his belly next to Oliver.

“So what? You can’t pull it off again, Mister Favourite?”

His eyes were twinkling, and Oliver smiled, pleased to see him so playful, after days of upset and pain. 

He cupped the boy’s cheek, stroked his thumb across his bottom lip.

“I can’t believe that’s what they’ve made me,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

Elio bit the pad of his finger gently.

“You’re my companion. Of course they would make you the Favourite.” Slowly, he pulled up, until he was sitting on his haunches, and then moved again to straddle Oliver on the bed. He tangled his fingers into the hair on Oliver’s chest; growled softly, and bent down to kiss his throat, his chin. “Fuck me, please, my Favourite.”

Looking up at him, Oliver sighed. Then let his hand travel down to the boy’s rump, to his backside, grabbing the tight flesh, digging his fingers into it while he growled softly against Elio’s mouth. 

They had been announced a day after Elio had been persuaded to stay.

Oliver was still shocked, if he had to say the truth. He was still looking around, suspiciously, keeping an eye on everything and everyone, because he certainly didn’t trust this situation. It had seemed too easy.

Elio had spoken to him, and tried to get him to relax. According to Elio, Orestes and the Elders had understood they had too much to lose if Elio left, or if he died. Too much shame to face if Elio decided to stand down from his position so publicly or if they had to explain how they had to kill their precious Chosen One. They didn’t have anyone else that could do what he could do; they stood to lose too much, too much credibility, their very power and influence they had on the village, by losing Elio. 

And so they had to go along with his desires.

They’d finally realised it wasn’t really a loss, anyway, because Oliver was handsome, and cultured, and charismatic. The villagers already liked him, and were going to like him just as much if not more than they liked Cesar. They were going to look forward to the child they certainly thought Elio was going to give birth to.

Cesar had gone back to being the Librarian. Still a high-ranking role, no doubt. Elio avoided him; he didn’t want to see that man. But both Oliver and he knew that they needed Cesar in order to track down Elio’s mother.

“I wonder how long it’ll take,” Oliver had said, a few days after Cesar had apparently been told to start his investigation. 

He’d seen Elio set his jaw. 

“I don’t know. I wish I remembered more about - about that day. I remember they blindfolded me, I - I can’t even remember how long we travelled for. How far away I lived, back then.”

Oliver had frowned, feeling the anger he always felt when Elio talked about what happened. He’d pulled Elio to himself, kissed his hair, feeling, once again, that he wanted to punch Orestes, Cesar, and all of the Elders for what they had done.

Elio and Oliver were now treated like royalty. Along with a very comfortable lodging, complete with anything they might need - food, running water, the most high quality silk robes, fresh red crowns every morning - they had their own Helpers - Marzia for Elio, just as he’d requested, and someone called Kalya for Oliver. He’d never seen Anthea again. He didn’t want to think about what had happened to her.

They had been paraded around the village on the day they were announced, something Oliver had had to grin and bear, even though it had been one of the strangest experiences of his life. Of course, he didn’t think any of that was necessary. He didn’t want to do anything for this community, for the Elders, specifically; he just wanted to get this over with. 

But he needed to do it for Elio. He needed to be there for him.

While the boy had taken the situation into his hands - stood proud, made his requests, stood by his decisions, kept both Cesar and Orestes at a distance - Oliver was certainly not going to leave him to it. He was going to be by his side, just as he’d promised, and hope that they could find Elio’s mother soon, and then leave that godforsaken place. Oh yes, he would have so much material for his book, that was for sure, though certainly not what the villagers were hoping he would say.

As he watched Marzia help Elio get dressed, with his white silk cape that coveted his arms and legs down to his ankles, and the crown of red flowers that was placed, fresh, every day on his head, he couldn’t help but think again about how all this situation was very strange. It was suspicious. If he thought about it enough, it was scary. 

He kept thinking there was something behind this, something he wasn’t expecting. He knew he couldn’t lower his guard, and he wasn’t going to. He was going to watch over Elio, whatever it would take him.

“How do I look?” Elio asked him, smiling, once Marzia was done. 

He lifted his arms, the cape sleeves falling long and soft. The white made his skin look even more flawless; the scarlet of the flowers highlighted his freckles, his red mouth.

“You’re gorgeous,” Oliver said, and nodded. He wanted to be appreciative; but he swallowed, feeling the tension that had been accumulating in his whole body for the past few days.

Elio looked to Marzia, and then back to Oliver.

“Is there something missing?” he asked, looking down himself. “Am I too uptight - I feel like you’d want to see my skin more.”

“Hey,” Oliver shook his head, pulled Elio to himself by his hips. “You’re perfect. With or without these robes. And what I think is not the measure for your beauty.”

That made Elio frown.

“Yes it is. What you think is very important. The most important thing. You’re my companion. Everyone should see you and know that I am exactly as you want me.”

He was still frowning, looking up into Oliver’s face. 

And Oliver shook his head, frowned back for a moment.

“Elio,” he said, reaching out to stroke a curl back from the boy’s forehead. “Come on. This is not what’s important, and you know it. This is just what people in this village think.”

“It‘s important now,” Elio frowned deeper, tilted his face in question. “It’s important to me. How are we going to keep our power in this village if they don’t believe us? If they don’t believe we are what the village needs?”

“Elio...”

“We need to do this, Oliver,” the boy’s voice was raised. “We need to keep this charade, or whatever this is, until we find out what - until we find my mother. And in order to keep this going I need you to do this.”

Oliver took a breath. He frowned, still.

Was this really what they’d agreed on? It seemed so, and yet, he felt like suddenly, there was something more. Something he couldn’t yet define. 

But Elio’s face was tight, determined, the boy looking up at him with a light in his eyes - and so Oliver nodded.

“You’re beautiful. You’re how I want you. And look, I don’t know how anyone might doubt my feelings for you. But tell me what you need me to do, and I will do it.”

His voice was firm, just like the expression in his eyes, and his words, finally, made Elio smile.

“Just - be with me. And please don’t be worried. I know you are, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got this. I know the village, and I know what I need to do.” He took a step closer, took Oliver’s hand in his. “I just need you by my side every step of the way.”

Oliver held his hand back. Made himself smile.

“You have me.”

“Do you know - the Chosen one and the Favourite are supposed to make love in front of the Village Council, once, to show that they’ll have an offspring for Arcadia.”

Oliver looked up from his breakfast, at Elio, who was holding his cup of hot milk and looking at him from over the rim.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“And yet, it has been done for centuries. Apparently.”

“Apparently,” Oliver said. He took a sip of his tea; looked out, to the window. It was sunny that day.

“Of course that’s one of the things that are changing while I am here. I am sure that both Orestes and Cesar would love to watch us, as disgusting as they are.”

Oliver looked back up to Elio. Just the mere idea of it made him nauseous, and he ground his teeth, took a breath. 

“It would never happen,” he said in a quiet growl.

He held his eyes on Elio, and the boy shook his head, walked over to him. Cupped his cheek, stroked a thumb across his cheekbone.

“Of course not,” he responded, softly. And then he bent over, and kissed Oliver on the mouth. Pulled his morning robe aside, and straddled him on the chair, deepening their kiss, letting Oliver’s hands hold around his naked body. 


	22. Chapter 22. The Lies

Then one day, Elio began feeling ill.

He lay on their bed, supine, a hand covering his eyes. There was sweat on his forehead and down his temples. He kept his eyes closed, breathed slowly.

“I’ve called Marzia,” Oliver said, standing by the bed, his jaw set. “I asked her to bring some medicine.”

Elio didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move.

“I’m fine. I’m just nauseous.”

“Well, that’s not fine.” Oliver padded closer, sat on the bed next to the boy. Gently, he stroked his wet curls on his forehead. “You’re very warm.”

“I’m okay.”

Oliver sighed.

Elio looked very pale. He hadn’t left the bed that morning at all; he hadn’t been ill, not yet, but he could not move due to his nausea. 

Oliver was very worried.

“You’re not okay. And we need to find out what caused it,” he said, frowning - mentally cursing that village once again. Of course, they didn’t have proper doctors. They believed in herbal remedies and homeopathic unguents for mostly any ailment - so ridiculous.Oliver wanted to curse them all.

When Marzia arrived, she was bringing a cold compress, and she knelt by the bed next to Elio, placing it gently on his forehead and cheeks. It smelled of mint and chamomile.

“I brought hot tea, also,” the girl said, and gave Elio a little smile, rubbed his arm slowly. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Oliver stood.

“He needs a doctor, is what he needs. A proper one.”

“Oliver,” Elio spoke. He sounded sleepy. “Oliver, please. It’s alright. If I’m pregnant, this is - these symptoms are normal. You know they are.”

Oliver kept his eyes hard. Set his jaw, watched as Marzia stroked Elio’s hair.

He closed his hands into fists. This village - it was getting under his skin. The fact that he could see the whole thing getting under Elio’s skin, got to him, too. He was worried. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. 

Cesar saw him arrive, but didn’t react. Didn’t move, from where he was leafing through yet another book on Arcadia. 

Oliver wanted to roll his eyes, but instead he stared, walking closer.

“Are you here to try to kill me again?” Cesar said, without hardly raising his gaze from the yellowed, dusty pages under his hands.

“You’re a fool,” Oliver responded. Because he could, because it was what he thought.“You very well know I’m not here to kill you.”

Cesar cleared his throat, closed the book, the heavy cover slamming down with a muted sound.

“Because I have something you want,” he said, returning Oliver’s stare. “Because I have to do something for you.”

“That’s right. So what I’m here to do is to ask how long it’ll take. For all of our sakes.”

Cesar stared for one long moment, as if Oliver were an unruly child that he had to explain things to way too many times over.

“I don’t know, Oliver. I don’t know how long it’ll take. I wasn’t here when the kid was taken.”

“So none of your buddies can tell you?” Oliver growled. “None of your dear friends who kidnapped Elio seem to remember anything about it?”

Cesar sighed, and it sounded exasperated.

“Of course the Arcadians who took Elio back then are no longer here, because it would be a huge risk having them alive and around the Chosen One. I thought you’d studied the village thoroughly, Professor Oliver, or did you lie to us about that?”

“It seems I wasn’t able to find anything on your habit of killing anyone who you don’t want around,” Oliver growled, and took a step towards Cesar. God, he hated this man.

Yet Cesar did not move.

“You’ve got that child. You’re the new Favourite,” he said, his voice patronising, his eyes thin, looking at Oliver as if through a slit, spitefully. “You’ve got protection. What more do you want? Just enjoy Elio like you’ve wanted to do from the beginning. Like you’ve done, already. Just spend your time fucking him because obviously he’ll open his legs for you whenever you want, and don’t worry about what other people need to do.”

He had his chin up, a smirk on his face. 

Oliver felt like snarling; his whole body going rigid. His hands wanted to wrap around Cesar’s neck, and squeeze, strangle the air out of his lungs. 

He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to hold back.

“You think I want what you wanted, you scum?” He raised a fist, and he was so enraged it was shaking. “I don’t give a fuck about being anybody’s favourite. I’m only here for Elio and so the sooner you give him the information he needs, the better. And I will make sure you do.”

Cesar was still smirking, and then nodded. 

“Sure, you didn’t want what I had. But now that Elio’s pregnant, now that you’ve got him pregnant, I don’t think you’ll be able to just leave as soon as you thought. So you better get used to your new role, Professor.”

“You don’t even know if it’s true!” Oliver raised his voice. “You don’t fucking know that Elio can have children. It’s all your stupid, made up beliefs. You brainwashed him. You brainwashed everyone, it’s actually sick to see.”

He swallowed, full of emotions. 

Without even having noticed, without planning to, he’d given voice to a doubt he’d had since the very beginning. 

The Arcadians believed things that didn’t exist in the world Oliver came from. They didn’t search for proof, or evidence - they didn’t have scientific research to support their ideas. They believed their traditions, their hearsays - even Elio had said so. 

So who knew if any of their dogmas had any truth? Who knew, who’d even checked if Elio could do what they said he could do? 

He breathed hard, and his closed fists pulsed in rage. He watched as Cesar’s eyes went wide, though he still had his spiteful, disgusting grin on his face.

“Ah, interesting! So you don’t believe it, huh? You don’t believe that the Chosen One can have children? You don’t believe what he himself has told you?”

  
“I don’t believe you,” Oliver snarled. “I don’t believe you, and all your comrades, who’ve only used Elio and everybody else since you’ve got your dirty hands on them.”

Cesar was quiet for a long moment, just stared at Oliver. Quiet and still, and looked perfectly at ease, not one bit perturbed. 

Then, he spoke again. 

“Perhaps, you’re on the right track.” He took a breath, and looked down, put the book back on top of a pile of others. “Perhaps you’re right. You’re right not to believe.”

Oliver took a breath. What was he even saying? 

He needed to get out of there. He couldn’t stand to listen to that voice, hissing like a snake, for one moment longer. 

“You’re right that everything here is hearsay,” Cesar spoke again, his voice raised to still reach Oliver as he walked out. “And someone like you should make sure they’re told the truth, before believing anything. You should have done it from the beginning.”

Oliver set his jaw even harder, felt his teeth grind together. He’d almost forgotten what he’d gone to Cesar for. He hadn’t obtained the information he’d wanted, and now he felt like an idiot for even thinking Cesar was ever going to have a straight and honest conversation with him. 

He cursed under his breath, and walked back to his and Elio’s lodging, trying to calm down before the boy saw him in that state. 

“How do you feel,” Oliver asked, padding closer to Elio, sat on pillows on the floor next to Marzia and sipping from a steaming cup. Oliver crouched down, stroked his fingers over Elio’s forehead. He was no longer as warm as he had felt that morning. 

“I feel much better,” Elio smiled, reached out to tangle his fingers into the hair on Oliver’s nape. “Not really nauseous right now. Just some pain in my belly, but apparently that’s also normal at this stage of the pregnancy.”

Next to him, Marzia smiled, and nodded to Oliver. Elio leant over, kissed Oliver’s mouth briefly. 

And Oliver made himself smile back at the both of them; watched as Elio took another sip of his tea, laughed when Marzia yelped quietly after scalding her fingers on her own steaming hot mug.

Oliver didn’t say anything, and just sighed,mind lost in thought. 


	23. Chapter 23. The Changes

Elio stirred, holding tighter with his arm around Oliver’s waist. He was warm, still, though not in any way that signalled that he was still sick - and Oliver let himself be woken, batted his eyelids open and looked at the boy, laying next to him in bed. 

Elio’s large, doe eyes were fixed on him; his cheeks were rosy, his mouth full and pink. He was a vision.

“Good morning,” the boy said softly, a hand going to cup Oliver’s cheek. He reached out, kissed Oliver on the mouth.

Oliver smiled. Took a deep breath.

“How’s your nausea?”

Elio smiled. “It’s much better, thank you. Almost gone.”

“Oh, good.” Oliver took another breath.

Elio did look better. He had his usual glow back. 

And Oliver swallowed. Thinking that maybe, this meant that he was right, maybe there was no pregnancy.

He’d been harbouring this thought since things had started getting serious, both in terms of his relationship with Elio, and in his standing, or lack thereof for some time at least, in the village. 

They were crazy. The Elders, the chief group, the ones who helmed the people of Arcadia, who told them what to think and how to feel - they were crazy. They looked at nothing in the face if it went against their beliefs; if it put any of their plans at risk. 

Oliver couldn’t tell to what degree they believed their own dogmas - he was sure they did believe them, they’d refused any other, external knowledge or information - but what he was sure of was that they certainly had everyone in the village convinced of them. 

Including Elio.

As much as Elio was smart, careful, independent in his way of thinking, as well read as he was thanks to the kids’ sneaking around to keep and read books from the external world in secret - he was still very young. He had grown up with certain ideas - certain ideas had been implanted in his head since when he was a baby.

Oliver hadn’t had the time to think very deeply about it, not with everything that had happened in such a short time. But since the very beginning, he’d wondered - could it be true that Elio was capable of having children? How did they know, for sure?

He couldn’t trust this village. He couldn’t trust the Elders. They lied, they lied about everything.

“What is it?” Elio asked, his hand still cupping Oliver’s cheek. His eyebrows werecrinkled, adorably so.

Oliver reached out, kissed the boy’s lips. “Oh, it’s nothing, baby. Just thinking.”

Elio held his eyes on him, and Oliver forced himself to gaze back, even though he felt like he was being stared right through, read like a book. But Elio was just a boy. He couldn’t read his mind.

And after a few moments, Elio smiled.

“I like it when you call me that. Baby,” he said, pads of his fingers stroking Oliver’s ear. “Reminds me of some books I read a couple of years ago,” and his voice lowered, “not well written at all, but - sexy. Naughty books. It’s what the man in them usually calls the girl, before - before they do it. Before they make love.”

He came close, kissed Oliver, a long, lingering kiss. 

Then he rolled to the side, and pulled on Oliver’s arm, gently, until he was hovering over him, until he was underneath Oliver. Elio opened his legs; and Oliver closed his eyes. Fuck.

“Make love to me?” Elio murmured. His voice low, like in a movie. And Oliver stared down at him, spoke, voice just as low. 

“Is this what they say? In those naughty books of yours?”

Elio didn’t miss a beat. 

“Fuck me,” he moaned up at him, still quiet, but it sounded like a growl. Green eyes staring straight into Oliver’s blue ones. 

And Oliver took his mouth, kissing him deeply, his hand sneaking down the boy’s body to make room to be inside of him as soon as possible. 

There were engagements that the Chosen One and his Favourite were required to take part in that evening. 

Oliver watched Marzia help Elio get dressed, her critical eye assessing the folds of his cape, the way his hair curled, fixing this and that until she was satisfied. 

Oliver felt on edge. He both didn’t know why, and did; and he itched to speak to Elio, alone. 

“Marzia. Could you leave us for a moment, please?”

The girl didn’t reply, just looked up at him, and nodded slowly, left the room quickly. Elio looked up at him, questioningly. 

“Something the matter?”

Oliver padded closer. 

“You don’t have to - do this. You know? You don’t have to take part in their parades.”

He kept his voice gentle - it wasn’t a scolding, not at all. Just a reminder. 

Elio frowned. 

“I know that. But why shouldn’t I? I want to.”

Oliver could not understand. 

“Why?”

“Why? Because this is my job, right now. Because I have this power and I sure as hell will use it.” He softened his tone, then, visibly. Took a step towards Oliver, still looking up at him. 

“It’s my chance to help. To change things. Why would I not use it?”

They held each other’s eyes for one, long moment. Then, there was a knock on the door; Marzia came in, looking apologetic, but informing them that it was time to go. 

As the Favourite, Oliver was required to attend the functions with the Chosen One. He would have probably gone with Elio, anyway, for protection, because he still didn’t trust any of these people - because he certainly wasn’t going to let him go anywhere where he knew Orestes and Cesar would be present. 

But this didn’t mean he agreed - it didn’t mean that he thought Elio should do this. 

All these archaic procedures and traditions - why would Elio want to take part?

They both stood on the stage in the clearing, right in the middle of the village. In front of an audience of a hundred of Arcadians, all looking up at them adoringly. 

“I wanted to let you know of a few changes that I am going to implement, as your Chosen One,” Elio said. His voice not wavering one bit. “First of all, you will get paid for the work that you do for the village. Not with honour, not with respect - with food, and goods. If you work, and if you help the community, you should be rewarded for it.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Oliver could see the villagers exchanging surprised glances, unsure of how to take the news - of whether to believe them. Then, one of them clapped - and others followed, and all of sudden there were smiling faces in the crowd, gleaming eyes. 

“The second change I want - no villagers will have to sacrifice themselves at the end of their working life.”

This started a new wave of whispering amongst the crowd. Then, one villager spoke. 

“But what will we do - how can there be space for them? They are supposed to move on to make room and let the generations progress.”

“There is space for everyone,” Elio responded, his voice still firm. “The older generation can still be very valuable to Arcadia - they will help us. They will not need to die, they will not need to give up their lives, ever again.”

A moment of silence, as the crowd processed the news; and then, another applause. Smiling faces; relieved expressions. A few people were crying of joy. 

Oliver looked aside, to Orestes, Cesar and the Elders - it was obvious they hadn’t seen this coming. And they weren’t happy, at all. 

He swallowed. 

“See why I need to do this?” Elio told him later, as he took off his crown of scarlet flowers, as Marzia helped him untie his robe. 

Already in his normal clothes, Oliver set his jaw. 

“When did you - when did you think of doing this?”

Elio didn’t look at him, ran his hands through his curls to fix them as he wanted them. 

“All my life?” He turned around, walked towards Oliver, in just his underwear. “But never thought I could. Until now, because - because I’ve got you. My Favourite. My saviour. And the saviour of Arcadia.”

He threw his arms around Oliver’s neck, and Oliver embraced him back, wrapping his own arms around Elio’s waist. He looked beyond Elio’s shoulder. They were alone in their room. 

Yet Oliver didn’t feel at ease - not after seeing the Elders’ faces. Not knowing how dangerous they could be. 

Oliver was still nervous that night, as they prepared to attend dinner. 

“I think we should stay here,” he said, looking outside, through the window. The sky was grey; the clearing was empty of people. 

Elio tilted his head in question. “Why?”

And Oliver considered. To tell Elio of his concerns? He sighed, bit the inside of his cheek. He needed to find the right words. 

He turned around, walked towards Elio.

“I want to spend the evening alone with you,” he said instead, looking down into Elio’s face, smiling at him. His hand cupped the boy’s face, his thumb stroking his cheekbone gently. 

And Elio smiled back, his eyes shining.

“Anything you want,” he nodded, and held his eyes for one long moment more. Then he rose on tiptoes, kissed Oliver’s mouth. And Oliver relaxed. At least for that night, he knew that Elio would be safe. 


	24. Chapter 24. The Council

The next day, early in the morning, Elio and Oliver lay in bed together, but Oliver wasn’t asleep. He held Elio in his arms while the boy slept. Indulged in a little bit of watching him, watching who was now his partner, his lover. 

Oliver still couldn’t reconcile what happened in Arcadia with reality. Could still not see himself as their Favourite. What did that even mean? What was he supposed to do? Aside from having children with the Chosen One, if one were to believe their traditions? 

Oliver didn’t know. But in the end, it didn’t matter. He didn’t plan on staying there long, anyway. As soon as Elio’s mother was found, as soon as they received the information they needed about her, they would leave. He would take Elio away from there. He would take Elio to live with him, in the real world.

Elio stirred in his sleep, but didn’t wake, only burrowed his face further into the crook of Oliver’s collarbone. 

Oliver’s eyes scanned him carefully; his pale skin, his ruffled, dark curls. His fragile body. Oliver was still finding it hard to believe that Elio could be pregnant. Because males couldn’t bear children - because no matter what the Arcadians said, they couldn’t know for sure. 

Because, it didn’t matter if he was, but Oliver wasn’t going to let Elio be brainwashed by this community of lunatics, any more than he already had been.

A knock on their door pulled him from his thoughts, and Oliver raised up on his elbows, careful not to jostle Elio into consciousness.

“Elio?” Marzia’s voice called. “Elio, are you awake?”

Still carefully, Oliver untangled himself from his young lover and stood, pulling his robe to cover his body, and going to open the door a fraction to speak to Marzia.

“Hey, Marzia.” He kept his voice quiet. “Elio is still asleep.”

The girl nodded. “Oh, sorry. It’s just - the Elders have called a council in half an hour. Elio needs to be present.”

“A council?” Oliver frowned. There was nothing planned for the day. “What for?”

“I’m not sure,” Marzia shook his head, her large brown eyes sincere. “But Elio needs to be present.”

“If Elio goes, then I go with him. Please can you pass this message on to them?”

His voice was firm. There was no way Oliver was going to let them corner Elio, fill his head with their stupid ideas - who knows what they wanted, what they planned to say. Or, worse, who knows what they planned to do. 

Oliver was going to go, and watch over him.

“I - yes, sure,” Marzia nodded again. “Please, have him be ready in thirty minutes.”

And then she carefully pushed the door closed again, and Oliver heard the muted sound of her footsteps on the gravel outside, as she left. 

Elio fussed with his robe as he got ready. He didn’t have to wear his full Chosen One get up just to attend a routine council, but he did need to wear his golden robe and his crown - the crown was meant to be there to signal to anyone who saw him that he was taken. 

Elio huffed, stroked his curls back behind his ear for the uptenth time.

“I hate this crown,” he growled under his breath. “I’ve decided I’m going to make it unnecessary.”

Oliver sighed.

“They won’t like it. You know that.”

“I don’t care what they like. I’m the Chosen One, I am who the Arcadians listen to. I can decide that these messy things aren’t necessary.”

Oliver looked at him, and then reached out to take his hand in his, to stop him from pulling on his hair in frustration.

“You know how obsessed they are with their traditions. And you are changing quite a few things already - maybe leave this one as it is, for now.”

Elio frowned at him. “Why are you saying this? I didn’t think you cared about these silly crowns.”

“Of course I don’t care”, Oliver chuckled. “But I’m just saying - I think, with them, better pick your battles. They are crazy, you know that, they’re unpredictable. Let’s not rock the boat unless we really have to.”

Elio’s big eyes were still looking at him questioningly. And then he set his jaw, looked back at his reflection in the mirror. 

“I’m not scared of them.”

And Oliver sighed. “I know. I know you’re not.” He took his hand, brought it to his mouth to kiss. Holding Elio’s eyes, until Marzia’s voice, outside the door, called for them.

The council was made of a handful of people that morning - only Orestes, Cesar, a scribe and another Elder were present.

Oliver stood next to Elio, looking at them, at the empty room they were all standing in, smelling of incense and lavender. 

The Elder was the one to speak first.

“As you all know, we will be announcing Elio’s pregnancy to Arcadia today, as per our rules.”

Oliver breathed. This was news to him.

“However, something rather worrisome has been reported to us, and we can’t move forward until we have cleared the matter,” the Elder continued. He looked at Oliver directly. 

“We have been informed that the Favourite believes the Chosen One is lying about his pregnancy.”

Oliver felt his heart skip a beat, and then his breathing became faster, his chest filling with anger. 

Cesar, of course.

“Who - who informed you of this, if I may ask?” Elio asked, the boy tilting his head, disbelief painted on his features for all to see.

“It was a very reliable source, our Chosen One,” the Elder said. Next to him, both Cesar and Orestes stood, still as statues. “Cesar, who spoke to the Favourite, directly.”

“You can address Oliver by name, Hector, he is right here,” Elio hissed.

Hector nodded, a long nod, and then stood in silence. He was done.

“You understand this can’t happen,” Orestes spoke then. “You understand this is shameful.”

Oliver hadn’t even noticed he had his hands squeezed into fists, but he felt like growling at hearing Orestes speak. At being talked about as if he wasn’t there, just like Elio had said.

“This is something for Oliver and I to discuss,” Elio said, his voice clear and firm. “If there is any truth in what you say, then this is something him and I need to speak about.”

“Elio...” Oliver started, turning towards him. 

Elio didn’t look up.

“Let’s go to our lodging, Oliver. I want to see you in private about this.”

And he didn’t look back at the three Elders as he turned around and walked towards the exit, not waiting to see whether Oliver followed.

“Is that true? What they said?” Elio asked as soon as they were alone.

Oliver sighed. “Elio...”

“Is it true that you don’t believe I am pregnant?”

Elio’s eyes were hard. Oliver held them with his, nonetheless.

“I didn’t know they were going to announce the pregnancy today.”

“Oliver, please. Don’t change the subject.”

Oliver sighed again. He hated Cesar. He should have never volunteered any of his thoughts in his presence. 

“Baby, listen. It’s not true that I don’t believe you might be pregnant. I was just - I am just unsure.”

“Did you speak to Cesar?” Elio asked, voice cutting. 

“I did, but not about this - I went to check on his progress about your mom. I was just worried that they - that this is something they might have convinced you of. Like everything else - like all the other things that they fill people’s heads with.”

Elio was still staring straight into his eyes; his own, wide. Bright. 

He swallowed, and his jaw was tense. 

“Why can’t you believe me? Me, not the rumour, not the hearsay. Me. Why can’t you?”

“Elio, baby, I-“

“What do I have to do to convince you - aside from being sick, aside from my moods changing every five minutes, aside from the fact that I know what I’m capable of.”

“But have you been checked,” Oliver said then. And he felt horrible, for saying what he was saying. But he needed to. “Has anyone - not someone from Arcadia, someone who’s a professional - have they visited you and confirmed what you believe?”

“You’ve come inside me and you’ve made me pregnant,” Elio interrupted. He’d raised his voice; his eyes were red. “What do I need to do to make you see that that’s what happened?” He bit the inside of his lower lip, swallowed, in an obvious effort not to cry. “I wish you could - put your hand inside me, touch what - what you’ve put in there. What’s making me sick, what will - what will be your child. What I will give birth to, whether you, the father, believe it or not.”

“Elio.” Oliver didn’t know what to say, but didn’t want to see Elio so upset. 

Of course. Of course Cesar had hit exactly where he’d planned.

“You should believe me,” the boy said. His face flushed. “You should believe me.” 

Oliver took a step towards him, but Elio stepped back. “Elio, please-“

“I’m going to our bedroom. I want to be alone. Please don’t follow me,” Elio said, his voice quiet. 

And he turned around, disappeared inside the room, closing the curtain behind himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t forget to leave me a comment x


	25. Chapter 25. A solution

Oliver held Elio in his arms, in bed. 

They hadn’t spoken much since their argument, but Elio had woken up in the middle of the night, sick, nauseous, throwing up - and so Oliver lay beside him and checked his forehead and his cheeks periodically to monitor his temperature. He kept a pitcher of water next to the bed, made him sip from it at regular intervals.

“I think we need to get you to a doctor,” Oliver murmured. Brushed a sweaty curl back from Elio’s forehead. He realised he hadn’t meant to say it out loud - he didn’t mean to get Elio worked up or worried, not in the state he was in - but he was so concerned that he hadn’t thought to keep his thoughts to himself for the moment.

“No,” Elio replied, his eyes closed. Oliver was expecting such a rebuttal, imagined it would be against Arcadia’s rules for the Chosen One to be seen by an outside doctor or, even worse, forbidden for them, since they had tried to escape and the Elders were probably expecting them to try again and again. 

But it wasn’t that.

“If a Doctor from the outside world checks me out, and sees that I am pregnant, they will make a big deal,” Elio murmured, his eyes still closed, his voice feeble. When it was just them, when he could be just himself, he spoke like a normal kid his age would do - so different from the self-assured, poised and rehearsed persona he had when speaking to the Arcadians as the Chosen One. 

“Imagine the scandal, there - there would be too much attention, they would - study me, like an animal.”

Oliver swallowed. He wished he could say that wasn’t true; but he couldn’t.

“We need to have you checked. This is worrying, you can’t - you can’t go on like this, Sweetheart.”

In his arms, pale and with his eyes still closed, Elio managed a small smile. “Sweetheart,” he repeated softly.

“I just-“

“I like it,” Elio murmured. “I like these nice names you call me.” He sighed. “I hate the ones they give me. I hate the Chosen One.”

Oliver sighed. Watched him for one more moment, stroked more curls away from the boy’s forehead and temples.

“I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.”

“It’s just how it is,” Elio said, and his voice was weaker, sleepy. “I think - I think it’ll get better. It’s what the books say.”

And moments later he was sleeping, breathing quietly, and Oliver sighed again. Elio only knew what he had managed to read about pregnancy from the books the kids secretly took from the outside world. It was crazy. 

Oliver kept his eyes on him, on his face, thinking of what to do. 

“I want you to listen for a moment,” Oliver said, hours later, when Elio was awake and attempting to eat some vegetable soup that Marzia had brought from the kitchens. He wasn’t too enthusiastic about it, but he still made himself eat, because he felt a little better with food in his stomach. 

“I want to - get a pregnancy test. From the outside world.” He hesitated on that word, it felt so silly to say it. When Elio raised big, green eyes on him, Oliver lifted a hand to make him pause. 

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just want to be completely sure. I want to know that it isn’t anything else that’s making you so sick. Just for my peace of mind.”

He held Elio’s eyes. The boy looked unsure, suspicious; but then, finally, he relented.

“You can’t go yourself. You know that. You need to send someone else. Maybe one of the guards.”

Oliver nodded, and sighed. It was time to know for sure. 

The next day Elio felt just as ill as the day before, and yet he couldn’t pull out of his duties - another assembly with the Arcadians, yet another event in the village, more animals being brought in for the farm that the Chosen One needed to formally approve. 

It was silly, and boring, and Oliver knew that Elio would have just wanted to stay in bed and rest - but the boy forced himself to get up, pretend he was fine, show his face. He wanted to keep appearances. Every time he didn’t show up, every time he didn’t assert his authority, and left it for one of the Elders to do, the boy felt like he was losing ground with them. There was no convincing him.

When they returned to their lodging, a small package was waiting for them on the stone table.

Elio looked at Oliver, a glimmer of protest still in his eyes. 

Oliver shook his head.

“I just want to make sure it’s that. Nothing else.”

It wasn’t entirely true perhaps - in a small place inside his heart he was still wondering how a young man could have the ability to bear a child - but it wasn’t Elio he didn’t trust. He knew he wasn’t lying.

Mostly, however, Oliver wanted to make sure Elio wasn’t actually sick. If being pregnant was what caused his symptoms, then Oliver would take that over an illness that they weren’t equipped to treat in that crazy place.

“I don’t want you to watch me pee, but you can sit with me while it develops,” Elio said, his voice flat, as if he was already bored of the proceedings. Oliver nodded, and let him go to the next room, where their lavatory was. Waited for Elio to call him in once he was done. 

And the test was positive.

“I can do the other one in a few hours. If you have to start saying that maybe this one is faulty,” Elio said, his voice matter of fact, dismissive - he was probably still feeling unwell and bored of all the fuss.

Oliver, however, could hardly hear him.

He was staring at the little pregnancy stick, holding it in a trembling hand. 

Not that he’d completely ever ruled out the possibility that Elio could be really pregnant - but now, now that it seemed absolutely confirmed, reality was crashing down on him. 

Elio. Was pregnant. With his child. 

Oliver was going to be a father.

“Are you going to say anything?” Elio asked, his expression still flat, unaffected. He looked tired and sleepy. “I told you it was true. But now I really want to go lie down. I can already feel the nausea come back again.”

His words came at Oliver as if they were from another dimension. He blinked, took a deep breath. Swallowed. 

Elio was pregnant. Elio was pregnant. They were going to have a baby.

Then finally, Oliver managed to make himself speak. “Come here,” he asked, with as much breath as he could muster.

Elio tilted his head, and Oliver thought he saw a tiny roll of his eyes - he was, after all, still a teenager, impatient and unruly - but then Elio walked over to him.

Oliver hugged his arms around Elio’s body, held him against his chest. Pressed his lips against the top of Elio’s head, where the curls smelled heady of him. 

Oliver closed his eyes; took a deep breath.

A child. Elio was going to have their child. Elio was pregnant. 

Oliver’s mind was a flurry of thoughts, his chest full of contrasting emotions. 

They needed to talk. They needed to get out of there - Oliver wasn’t going to let his defenceless child be born in that deranged place.

“I need to go take a nap,” Elio murmured quietly, as he took a tiny step back to look at Oliver in the eye. 

It brought Oliver back to reality - and he nodded. Wrapped his hands, still trembling, around Elio’s face, palms against his cheeks, and kissed him on the lips. 

Then he let him go; deciding to sit there for a while, and think, and find a solution for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t forget to leave me a comment! X


	26. Chapter 26. Elio’s Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Look for me has concluded, I have more time to go ahead with this story. I hope you’re still with me!x

With the processing of the news also came the worries.

Not just because the pregnancy seemed to be giving Elio a really hard time - making him feel ill, so much so that he was spending most of his days in bed, unmoving unless he had to force himself out for meetings or obligations; but also - Oliver worried because, well. Elio was only seventeen.

Oliver thought about it, agonised over his own responsibility in the whole thing. He should have thought about it - he should have thought about using protection when he could. 

The truth was - now he realised it - deep down, he hadn’t believed that pregnancy was a possibility for them. He hadn’t believed that it wasn’t something made up by the Arcadians, for once.

And now, Elio was pregnant. And he was seventeen, he was so young. What kind of life was he going to have? Oliver had recoiled at the life that the village wanted for him, but was this so much better?

“I can hear you thinking.”

Elio’s voice came from under the cover, the boy huddled there, only the curls at the top of his head visible. 

It made Oliver chuckle, quietly, for a moment, in tenderness. He padded over, sat down on the bed next to the mound of covers shaped like Elio.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly, stroking Elio’s hair through his fingers.

“Tired. But a little better.”

Elio turned around so that he was lying on his back. Then, he pulled himself up to sitting, batted his eyelashes open. There were dark lines under his eyes, because his skin was so pale; it made the red of his lips even more evident. He was still so beautiful, and Oliver swallowed, looked down, his thoughts going back to what he regretted.

“What is it?”

Elio’s eyes were round now, wide, looking at him intently, and with the kind of imperious expectation he had learnt to display at a very young age.

Oliver shook his head.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Me? Why?”

Oliver swallowed again. Elio was made of steel; he had to be, having been raised in that mad village.

“Because - I’ve been thinking about it. You’re pregnant, and you - you didn’t get a choice in it. You’re only seventeen, you’re young, I - I should have been more careful.”

Elio frowned.

“Oliver. I’ve had this in front of me my whole life. This eventuality.” He pulled his knees up towards his chest, hugged them. “I’ve had a very long time to think about it. And you know - it wasn’t just you there. It was the both of us having sex, and who tells you that I didn’t make a choice then?”

Oliver sighed. “I don’t understand.”

“I knew what might happen, and I made my choice. I’ve always expected I’d be having a child and - and I’ve dreaded thinking I’d be having it with someone I despise, someone like - like Cesar.” He softened his expression, reached out to touch Oliver’s arm with his hand. “And instead, it’s you. You appeared. You - you wanted me. I made a choice, Oliver. And I’m happy about it.”

Oliver looked at the boy, held his eyes for one long moment. His heart beating faster; was Elio really saying the truth?

It seemed so.

“Unless,” Elio started, pulled his hand back, and a moment later he was pouting, his face becoming childlike again, young. 

“Unless, you’re not happy about it. Unless you didn’t want to have a baby with me. I - I should have asked you, but I just assumed that - that you’d made your choice knowing I could get pregnant.”

“No, no,” Oliver replied, urgent. No, he couldn’t let Elio think that, because it wasn’t true. “Of course not. Of course I’m happy that we’re having a baby. That I’m having a child with you.” He shuffled closer on the bed, cupped Elio’s cheeks between his palms and pressed his lips to the boy’s forehead, in a lingering, tender kiss. “I’m happy.”

“It’s fine, then,” Elio said, looking up, his lips stretching into a tentative smile. “I’m happy, too. It doesn’t matter how old I am, I wanted this.”

He seemed sure, and Oliver sighed. He didn’t know if he should be satisfied of the answer, though Elio was pretty headstrong, he’d shown it many times already, so he wouldn’t be saying something like that if he wasn’t sure; but, a little selfishly perhaps, Oliver wanted to believe it. Perhaps, just for that night, he could let his heart calm down, and accept that this was, really, Elio’s option at a better life compared to what could have been. Accept that Elio really was happy.

He stroked the boy’s temples with his thumbs. Watched as Elio turned his face to the side to kiss his wrist.

“How d’you feel, seriously,” Oliver murmured, needing to ask again. He wanted to kiss him; he wanted to make love to him. They hadn’t been together like that since Elio had started being sick. 

Elio smiled again.

“I feel better. I feel okay.”

He smiled still against Oliver’s mouth, when the older man reached closer to join their mouths. He opened his lips to let the kiss deepen - and Oliver sighed into him, pushing up to cover his body, carefully, pushing the covers aside, and letting his hands find Elio’s warm skin. 

A few weeks had passed, and Elio had gradually resumed all his duties - including giving audiences to the villagers, and deciding on their queries.

“My decision is that she doesn’t have to stay with her spouse,” he said, his voice firm like the expression on his face. 

The woman, a villager named Kora, brought her hands to her face, wept, in relief.

Her husband had been abusive to her since the start of their marriage, both in a physical and psychological way; now, with Elio’s decision, she no longer had to be bound to him.

“You cannot make this decision without consulting us, first,” Orestes, sitting on a chair to the side of Elio and Oliver, spoke, whispering, the words almost spat out of his lips, though he had to still appear respectful.

“He’s the Chosen One. He can indeed,” Oliver interjected. Looking at Orestes straight in the eye. 

He could see Orestes biting his tongue, his neck tense and strained - he knew he wanted to snarl, instead.

But Elio didn’t even spare a look towards him. He kept his eyes on Kora, still standing a few feet from him, her hands joined in prayer in front of her chest.

“It’s done. You’re free. You can go, Kora,” Elio said, his voice calm and collected.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you again,” the woman smiled, wide, her eyes still wet. “May you have a long life with us, Chosen One. You are bringing us so much goodness. And we are so happy that your precious child will be joining us soon.”

With one last, grateful look to Elio, and to Oliver after, Kora turned around, and left. 

Oliver looked at Elio; the boy smiled at him, quiet. “Let the next one in, please,” Elio said, looking ahead, ignoring the elders and their reactions.

Oliver could still feel Orestes fuming, sat a few feet from them - but he focussed on Elio’s eyes, on how happy, and relieved the boy looked, right then.


	27. Chapter 27. Broken promises

Elio batted his eyelashes open, slowly.

He raised a hand, bringing the fist to his eye, rubbing the sleep away as he blinked, and looked to his side. 

Oliver lay there, supine on the bed, his breathing calm, but his eyes open, and fixed to the ceiling.

“Morning,” Elio murmured, stretching his arms and legs gently, stifling a yawn. It made his white, light shirt ride up his torso, leaving his belly uncovered. It was gently swollen now, a five-month baby bump.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked, turning towards him.

Elio gave him a little smile.

“Yes. But I can feel you thinking,” he stretched a little more, then shuffled a little closer to Oliver, raised a hand to place the palm on his lover’s cheek. “What’s up?”

Oliver’s eyes held his; then he sighed.

“We need to get out of here. As soon as possible.”

“We will.” Elio pulled his hand back to rise up to sitting, with a little grimace. He was so slight that even a barely there bump made a huge difference in his weight. “Once we find out about my mom.”

“But is that ever going to happen?” Oliver held his eyes still, his voice firm. “It’s been months, now. You know I don’t like Orestes, or Cesar, or any one of those snakes. We’ve been here long enough, and they are dangerous.”

Elio blinked. “Of course it’s going to happen. Oliver, of course.” He leant closer to him, placed his hand on Oliver’s on his chest, kept his eyes on it as their fingers interlinked. “It’s going to happen soon, and then we can leave. In the meantime I can help the village, here, the best I can.”

There was a pause, in which Oliver sighed again, his eyes to the ceiling this time. Elio waited, and when Oliver turned back towards him, his eyes were hard.

“They don’t like what you do. They don’t like the decisions you are taking for the village. Do you not see that? They look at you as if you’re - a rebel, a nuisance. Something that’s disrupting their system. Do you really not see that?”

Oliver’s features were rigid, his gaze boring into Elio’s. And Elio frowned. Took his hand back, slowly, his lips turning down at the corners.

“Of course I see that. I’ve lived my whole life with them. I know what they do.” He’d raised his voice a little. Did Oliver think he was stupid? He knew them. He’d known them all his life. “But they can’t do anything. Even if they want to, they can’t. I am their Chosen One. I am the people’s Chosen One. And you’re my Favourite. They can’t do anything, to either of us.”

He tried to infuse his voice with as much certainty as he could. He knew he was right; he had to be. Orestes and the others were cowards, more interested in appearances than anything else, and Elio not only was their Chosen One but he was also loved by the villagers. 

Elio wasn’t scared of them.

He stared at Oliver, and the older man swallowed, sighed again.

“As your Favourite,” he said, and reached out to take Elio’s hand again. “As your Favourite, will you listen to my suggestion? To the gut feeling I have, every time they’re near you? Will you let me take you away from here?”

His face was so serious, his sky-blue eyes cloudy like they got when he was really worried.

Elio sighed again. Looked away for a moment, and then shuffled closer, laying down on the mattress and pulling Oliver, gently, on top of himself by the hand.

“I know you want to protect me,” he said softly, his palm on Oliver’s cheek, his eyes looking up into his eyes, “and I promise we will leave. I promise.”

He pulled him closer for a kiss, which started slow, but Elio insisted, determined to relax Oliver, to take his mind off his worries for a little while. He wanted intimacy, and so he opened his mouth, let Oliver’s tongue caress his, and moaned, quietly jubilant, when the older man rolled carefully and completely on him and his hands stroked down Elio’s body. 

The library was a place Elio knew well, since childhood, but had only been in twice in his life. 

It was strange how much he knew about the place - what it contained, when it was built, the books that were collected there, all about Arcadia’s history and rules and precepts, all of which, he’d been told since he was a child, were for him to learn as the Chosen One.

And he’d learnt them, of course very early understanding that the real knowledge, the real rules and history he wanted to learn, were the ones contained in the books that generations of helpers had been covertly hiding in the Secret Place. 

As soon as Marzia was assigned to him as children she’d told him about it; as their new Chosen One, the rebel helpers knew how important it was for him to know about the real world, to gain an awareness of things and people that was unbiased by what the Elders wanted him to think instead.

So when he approached the library that day, Elio did so with trepidation. 

He didn’t like the place. He didn’t like the person who ran it, of course. 

But he needed to speak to him.

As the Chosen One he was allowed into the library, which was restricted to other villagers, the guards stepping aside for him to let him in. 

Elio walked slowly through the brick corridor, until he reached the main hall. 

The walls were made of shelves, full of books, up to the ceiling. In front of him, the only bare wall was painted with Arcadia symbols - black on dark red, a combination of colours that almost hurt the eyes, and Elio wondered if that was indeed the purpose.

Cesar was standing by one of the wooden tables, leafing through a thick, heaving looking tome. Elio took a few more steps, staring at his back, breathing deeply to steel himself.

“They told me you were coming,” Cesar said, his voice flat, emotionless. He raised his eyes on Elio. “To what do I owe this incredible pleasure.”

Elio hardened his expression. He reminded himself he was no longer the child that Cesar and Orestes wanted to manipulate; he was the reigning Chosen One, now.

“I’m not here to make conversation,” he said, stern, raising his chin. “I’m here to check on your progress. You have a task that we need to see results for.”

“I told you it would take a while,” Cesar replied, looking down at his book, as if unaffected by Elio’s presence or by his request. “I don’t wish to repeat myself.”

“I don’t think you should dare to talk to me like that.”

“Or what? You’ll have me killed? I really don’t think that would go with your precious morals, do you?”

Cesar was trying to sway him, trying to assert his dominance on him with words, and Elio set his jaw, made himself focus. He wasn’t here to let Cesar scare him. He wasn’t scared.

“I want answers, Cesar. This has been going on for long enough. Tell me where my mother is. I won’t ask again.”

He watched, as Cesar paused for a moment; then turned around fully, looked at him in the eye.

“You really are more stupid that I gave you credit for, child.”

His voice was icy, cutting. It made Elio blink, but he kept his features rigid. He had power, not Cesar.

“I told you it’s a long process. I told you we don’t keep a record of who the parents are when we take the child. Why would we?” Cesar smiled, a creepy, bitter smile. “And who ever told you that your mother isstill alive?”

Elio swallowed, feeling his heart quicken its beating.

“My mother is not dead.”

“What if she is?” Cesar took a few steps towards him; opened his arms, his grey cloak widening like the wings of a predator. “What are you going to do then?”

“My mother is not dead,” Elio repeated. He refused to step back, even though Cesar had gotten closer.

“You should have just done what you were told,” Cesar continued. “You shouldn’t have listened to some charming, sneaking stranger, whispering things in your ears. You shouldn’t have listened to people promising you’d see your mother again.” He stopped, smiled again, his lips stretching to reveal yellowed teeth. His next words sounded like a snarl. “It should have been my son in your womb right now.”

Elio’s heart was beating against his ribcage, and while he kept his expression firm, he felt sick. Nauseous. His stomach squeezed; he took a breath, raised his chin again, in defiance.

“You’re a liar. A dirty liar.”

“I’m a liar?” Cesar laughed, in derision. “I think the liar, here, my child, is not me. I think it’s you. You, with your beauty but no brain whatsoever.” He opened his arms again. “I know what you want to do. What you plan to do, with your lover. Find out about your family and then leave. Leave this village as soon as you can. It’s always been in you, this idea.”

He shook his head, and continued.

“But you haven’t even thought about what will happen to you, when you step out of the world, your body swollen with pregnancy. You think you know so much of the world outside and yet you haven’t even thought about how they’ll treat you, the people, when they see a boy with child. How they’ll take the baby, they’ll study you, like an experiment. How you’ll have no rights, you’ll be no one, because we might like our rules here, but there’s no one more afraid of change, of difference, than the world outside of Arcadia.”

“Stop talking,” Elio said. Set his jaw even harder, feeling as if his lungs were running out of air.

“Oh, I will. But what your dear Favourite wants to do - what I am sure he wants to do - will destroy you. If you let him, it will be the end of you, and of the thing that’s growing inside of you. But he won’t understand. If you tell him, he won’t listen. He only sees the enemy here, but you should know better. You were born here. You were protected, here. You were safe.” 

Cesar sighed. Walked back to the table, looking down at his book, and raised his eyebrows, as if reasoning with himself. “He won’t understand. But you do.”

He looked back down at the book, didn’t look back up again. His speech was over.

Elio felt light-headed - and his fists were trembling, and he was angry about it, angry that he had let Cesar affect him. Thoughts were swirling in his mind, and he couldn’t seem to be able to calm his breathing. 

He needed to get out, he couldn’t stand to be in there anymore. He turned around, not speaking, not trusting his voice, and left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think! Xx


	28. Chapter 28. Danger

The woman speaking in front of Elio was young. Long, blonde hair, wide eyes, a hand over her round abdomen. She was seven months pregnant.

“Why do we have to separate from our children,” she asked, over and over, a frown on her face but her voice level, controlled. Only the trembling in her hand betrayed how nervous and scared she must be feeling. “It’s cruel. We’ve grown them for nine months inside our own body and then we have to hand them over.”

“You are not separating from them. You are letting them be raised as they should, together with all the other future Arcadians,” one of Elders sitting by the side of Elio, along the semi-circle that was their table, spoke up, his voice firm and confident.

“We don’t get to be parents!” The woman rebutted, her voice louder, her face angrier. 

Elio watched her: there were no tears in her eyes, but her pain was evident, and huge.

“That is not Arcadia’s rules,” the Elder spoke again.

Before the woman could protest once more, Elio intervened. There was no use for her to argue with the Elders.

“I hear you, Aska,” Elio said. “And I will think about it. I promise to you.”

His voice didn’t waver; his expression was hard, rigid. Oliver held his eyes on him, then looked over to their side, to Orestes and the three Elders sitting at the table, whispering amongst each other.

“Oh, thank you,” the woman’s face changed into an expression of gratitude. “Thank you, dear Chosen One. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to use that name.” Elio lifted his chin. “You can just call me Elio.”

The elders whispered again, urgent. Oliver set his jaw. He saw Orestes rise to standing, motioning with his hand for a guard to let the woman out, because the hearing had ended.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Orestes turned to Elio as soon as Aska left, and the doors closed behind her. “What is wrong with you?”

His voice was raised, his eyes blazing. He was standing, but Oliver could see the efforts in his limbs to stay still and not walk closer to Elio in his rage. 

He needed to intervene.

“You can’t speak to the Chosen One this way,” Oliver hardened his expression, held his eyes on him, standing himself alongside Elio, who was still sitting, his chin raised. His hand, placed on his belly, unmoving.

“Oh, I think I can,” Orestes snarled, not looking at him, holding eyes full of fury on Elio. “I can speak to him all I want, since he’s letting people disregard who he is.”

Oliver wanted to answer - although, he didn’t know what to say - but Elio rose to standing, too, his hand still on his belly covered by the golden cape, his chin still lifted. 

He spoke, his voice calm and controlled.

“I want to go back to my lodging.”

It was as if nothing was happening. As if Orestes hadn’t just snarled at him, his stance threatening and scary. As if Oliver hadn’t just had to step in for him.

Marzia, who had been standing in a corner of the room, walked to him quickly, helping him stand down from the stone platform where the table was, fussing around him to make sure his cape covered him properly.

Elio gave Oliver a look, and then turned around, walking out of the room, Marzia in tow. Oliver was aware that was Elio’s way of saying he should follow, but he wasn’t going to turn his back on Orestes until he knew Elio was safely out of there.

“I suggest you calm down,” he said to the Elder, his own voice was vibrating with anger.

“And I suggest you open your dumb eyes,” Orestes replied, not stepping back, looking right into him this time. “That stupid child is going to ruin us all! And all you care about is playing house with him. I should have known from the beginning that this was your plan. Come here, fuck the most important person in the village.”

Oliver had to take a deep breath. He really, really wanted to punch Orestes in the face, but that surely wasn’t going to help their already fragile position right now. 

He could rise to the bait - talk back, defend himself - of course he hadn’t gone to Arcadia with the plan to sleep with the Chosen One. He could threaten Orestes - he was dying to tell him exactly what he thought of him - but he just couldn’t risk angering him even further. Elio was doing enough of that.

And so, he gathered all the patience he could muster, told himself he needed to rise above it all, that he had a young partner and an unborn child to protect, and kept his mouth shut, ignoring Orestes and walking out of the hall in silence. 

Back in their lodging, when Oliver arrived, Elio had changed into more casual clothing. The boy smiled at him when Oliver came in, and stood, walking towards him, his hands gently holding on his belly.

Oliver removed his cape, and let Elio come close, wrap his arms around his neck - but his jaw stayed set.

“I feel much better today,” Elio murmured, smiling. He looked into Oliver’s eyes from under his eyelashes. Pregnancy was making him look even more stunning, giving him a flush to his cheeks, a swell to his mouth. He stood on tiptoes, kissed Oliver on the lips. “Do you want to spend some time with me? I can make you feel better, too. You’re so tense - you need to relax a little.”

Elio was using a sultry, low voice, his hands going under Oliver’s shirt to stroke up his torso, his bump pressed in between them.

But Oliver had other things in his mind. 

He gripped Elio by his forearms, held him back. “What are you doing, Elio?” he asked, his voice firm, his eyes hard. 

Elio blinked. “I would like to have sex with you. Don’t you want to?”

“No. I mean what are you doing. With them. With the villagers and with the Elders.”

He still held Elio’s forearms, firmly, looking into his eyes. He didn’t let go, not even when Elio sighed, and stood back.

“Why do we have to talk about this?” the boy asked, his mouth downturned in disappointment.

“Because it’s important. You know that. But I don’t think you realise what you are doing and how much danger you’re putting yourself in.”

“Yes, Oliver. I do realise it. And I know thatI’m not in any more danger than I’ve been all my life.”

Oliver shook his head, set his jaw even harder, anger and urgency mounting in his chest.

“Stop using that excuse,” he shook Elio lightly. “You’re their - Chosen One, now, you’re in a different position and you’re - changing their rules. You are angering them. You are putting yourself in the line of fire.”

Elio pulled his arms back, and Oliver let him go.

“God, Oliver, didn’t we talk about this already? You know why I have to do this. I can’t see these people being treated like animals anymore.”

“But you need to be more careful!” Oliver raised his voice. He took a step further, closer to Elio, who had stepped back from him. “We talked about changing the rules but now you’re - you’re doing it to spite them! Villagers keeping their children, now even letting them use your real name.”

“So what? Why is this a problem?” Elio’s eyes were just as hard as Oliver’s, and glimmered, rebellious. “You are speaking like them. Just like them.”

Oliver closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to keep calm - he needed to make Elio reason. 

“You are not really asking why it is a problem. You are more clever than that.”

Elio chuckled, bitterly.

“Well, maybe I’m not! I’m not clever. The Elders have told me all my life, called me stupid at every turn. Maybe I am stupid then. Maybe you can start calling me stupid, too, just like them, since you agree with them so much.”

Oliver shook his head again, closed his eyes and sighed, patience running thin. 

“Listen to yourself. Listen to what you’re saying. How can you say that I agree with them? How?” he murmured, low. He was losing his grip on sense, he knew it, but the truth was that he was exhausted, and worried.

But Elio’s eyes still glimmered with indignation, and the boy did not back down.

“No, you should listen to yourself, for once. If you did you would see how you’re just blaming me, just like they do. Maybe that’s how you thought you could control me.”

“Oh, Elio, for God’s sake!” Oliver, finally, snapped. “Stop this! This behaviour, this attitude, this playing the victim! This is serious, now! Grow up already!”

The slap resounded in the silence of the room, in the echo of Oliver’s words, a stark, sharp noise.

Oliver didn’t think he’d really felt it; but he saw Elio in front of him, his hand raised, trembling, his eyes teary and his lips pressed against each other so hard that they were white. 

Oliver saw the door on the other side of the room open; Marzia come in, tentative, stopping just by the entrance, her face worried and shocked. She must have heard their voices, and Oliver realised how much he’d raised his without even noticing. 

That wasn’t what he had planned at all; he needed to stop, put an end to that situation, to their argument.

He glanced once more to Elio - the boy’s eyes red-rimmed now, his lower lip trembling just as much as his jaw was still rigid - and sighed, nodded to himself, and walked over to the door, past Marzia, and out of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave me a comment! :)


	29. Chapter 29. Storm brewing

When Marzia and Kalya, Oliver’s Helper, came into their living room with dinner, Elio realised how hungry he was.

He hadn’t thought about it. He hadn’t been able to think about anything else aside from Oliver - wondering where he had gone, wondering if he was so angry with him, wondering if he hated him now. 

Oliver had been out all afternoon, since their fight.

Elio hadn’t meant for it to go that way, of course. He certainly wished he was better at explaining. He only meant to do good - he had power, in that village, now, he had a Favourite who didn’t see him as a slave of royal blood, like Cesar would have, but instead saw him as a person, a whole person with feelings and mind and ideas and desires. 

Elio meant to do good. He had to. He was the only one who could bring along the change the youths of the village had wanted, the one the rebel Helpers had been planning for many years. 

Yes, the Elders could be scary; but Elio wasn’t scared.

Elio was more scared of the world outside, right now. Yes, that exact world that he’d always dreamed of - now, with a child growing inside his body, inside his male body, Elio was terrified. 

He knew they had to leave. Him, Oliver and their child. Marzia, too, if he had his say. But just not now. The world outside wasn’t going to be forgiving and respectful of a pregnant young man, the world outside was going to react in an unpredictable way, and Elio needed to protect his child and his family, at any cost. He had promised Oliver they would leave; but they just couldn’t leave now.

The problem was that Oliver was getting more and more worried every day. He became nervous every time Elio exercised his power in Arcadia. He reprimanded Elio for every decision he made that resulted in the Elders talking and protesting - but the Elders were always going to do that. Didn’t he know? 

Elio had tried to explain, but it didn’t seem like Oliver wanted to listen.

He’d told Elio to grow up, earlier. Elio had slapped him. He looked down, at his hand, cradling his bump as he sat on the bench at the table, food displayed in front of him and steaming, Marzia standing by the door and waiting while Kalya went to call Oliver for supper. 

He’d hit Oliver, and Oliver had left.

Elio swallowed, bitterly. That is not how he wanted to be.

When Oliver came into the room, a few minutes later, Marzia and Kalya both walked out, as they usually did, closing the heavy door behind them, and leaving Elio and Oliver alone.

His eyes on the food in front of him, though not really seeing it, Elio peeked at Oliver from the corner of his eye. The older man was looking down, at his food also, face inexpressive, and a moment later he raised his hand to break a piece of bread off to have with his soup.

Elio’s heart beat fast, and he watched Oliver eat for a while, not touching his own food, his hand still placed on his belly. The baby must be feeling his nervousness - because a moment later, it moved inside Elio, making him jump, in surprise and gentle pain, when it kicked his ribs.

“Oliver,” Elio murmured, holding his breath for a moment. He raised his eyes fully on his partner, though his voice was still tentative. “Oliver.”

Finally, Oliver looked up at him, too, holding his gaze - though he didn’t speak.

“The baby moved,” Elio said, voice a little rough. “The baby’s moving.”

He saw Oliver swallow. His blue eyes widened for a split second, became brighter.

Elio tried again. 

“Do you - do you want to feel?”

Though Oliver still didn’t speak, the corners of his mouth turned up, almost imperceptibly. Elio smiled, still tentative, and then reached out, took Oliver’s hand, drew it to himself and to his belly, placed it over the centre, where he’d felt the movement. 

There. Another kick that made Elio’s breath itch.

“Can you feel it?” he asked Oliver, hoping with all of himself that he could.

And he could; Elio knew, when Oliver, finally, smiled gently.

“Does it hurt you?” the older man asked quietly, his hand moving slowly over Elio’s bump as if looking for somewhere where another movement could be felt.

“A little. Just if it kicks into my ribs. It feels weird,” Elio explained, smiling, too. Happy that Oliver was talking to him. “But it’s nothing too bad.”

Oliver nodded, and held his eyes on Elio’s bump, on his large hand covering the boy’s belly. He didn’t say anything else.

And Elio sighed. Let his own hand cover Oliver’s, on his body, feeling their combined warmth making the skin of his bump hot to the touch.

“I’m sorry I hit you, earlier,” he said, his voice tentative, trembling. He was scared of another argument, but he needed to apologise. “I’m really sorry, Oliver.”

He felt Oliver’s hand make a tiny, almost imperceptible movement - and he held it with his own, still on his bump, afraid Oliver was going to pull away and end the contact.

“I - I’m not trying to justify it, I swear. But lately - it has been difficult for me, all of - all of the changes in my body, and the - hormones, I guess, and I -“ he stopped, took a deep breath. “I’ve been hit many times, growing up. I’ve been slapped just like - just like I slapped you. And I think that’s maybe - it was an unconscious reaction, Oliver. A stupid, uncalled for, deeply wrong reaction, I know that, but I think - it was almost automatic. I didn’t plan it. I’m sorry, I just - I don’t even know what to do to apologise. But I am, sorry, and it will never happen again.”

Oliver didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on their interlinked fingers on Elio’s belly; and just when Elio thought he was going to say nothing at all, he spoke.

“I’m sorry I called you childish. I don’t think you are. I hope you know that.”

His voice was sure, firm. He looked up into Elio’s face, into his eyes.

And Elio smiled; relieved.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he promised. The important thing, to him, was that Oliver forgave him.

He smiled, as Oliver smiled at him again. And then the older man took his hand in his, and pulled gently, silently asking Elio to stand. Oliver pulled him closer to him, in between his legs; and he lifted Elio’s light white shirt over his bump, bunching it up at his chest just where the bump began, leaving his belly bare. With Elio standing and Oliver still sitting down Oliver’s eye linewas comfortably at Elio’s abdomen, and Elio watched as Oliver’s hands stroked him, slowly, his warm palms running up and down, and around his bump, over his belly button which was starting to jut out on Elio’s slender frame. 

There was another kick, light, almost imperceptible. But Elio knew that Oliver felt it, because his hands stopped, held still on his bump. Then Oliver reached out, and kissed him, kissed that spot on his abdomen where they’d both seen the baby move, pushing the skin out, telling them it was there.

“Forgive me, please Oliver,” Elio whispered. 

Oliver looked up; held his eyes.

When he pulled Elio even closer, and made him turn around, Elio didn’t hesitate. 

Quickly but carefully Oliver took Elio’s shirt off all the way. Unbuttoned his linen trousers from behind, let them fall to his feet. 

And then, he gently pulled Elio back, to sit on him, legs on either side of Oliver’s thighs. Without even looking Elio felt Oliver had also unlatched his own trousers; and he was hard, and Elio let him pull him back until he sat on his lap, until he could push inside him, slow but sure and steady.

It hurt only a tiny bit. After, once Oliver was completely inside of him, it just felt deep, intense, like struggling to make space inside of his body yet wanting to, desperately wanting to.

“So much more -“ Elio tried, closed his eyes, grit his teeth when the pressure pushed Oliver’s sex right against his prostate, “so much more sensitive, now,” he said.

“Shhhh,” Oliver soothed, his hands holding Elio’s hips, fast. A moment later, he was guiding his movements, forward and back, up and down, and pushing his own hips up into Elio, making him cry out and moan, and his eyes fill with grateful tears. It went on for long and yet it was fast, and at the end Elio didn’t even know if he could take it anymore, cried out loud but didn’t care who could hear him. He came, practically untouched, and then Oliver came inside him, pushing himself deep and holding there, sweaty forehead pressed against Elio’s spine. 

“I love you,” Oliver murmured.

They lay, next to each other, naked, still catching their breaths, on the large, soft carpet of the room - they had been too tired to both stand, still, and go anywhere else.

“I love you too,” Elio replied, his heart full.

Oliver took his hand as he spooned him, twined their fingers together.

“I want you safe. And that’s why I want us to leave this place. It’s taking too long for - we’ve been waiting too long. We need to leave, now.”

Elio squeezed his fingers. Swallowed. Held his eyes on an indefinite spot in front of him.

“I spoke to Cesar. He said they’re really close, now. Not long and I will see my mother. And we will leave,” he said, keeping his voice as level as possible. He squeezed Oliver’s fingers again. “Only a few days more.”

He heard Oliver breathe behind him, and then felt his lips press against his nape. 

Elio looked ahead of him, at the sliver of light coming through the window and drawing a line on the floor.

The weather promised a storm. And Elio burrowed back into Oliver’s embrace, held their twined hands against his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve read this chapter, please leave me a comment and tell me your thoughts. 
> 
> I promise that your comments are what keeps me wanting to write more!


	30. Chapter 30. Breathing

Elio closed his eyes. Marzia’s fingers moved slowly, stroking through his hair, as he lay back on the recliner in the main room of his and Oliver’s lodging, his head on the girl’s lap. 

“If the Elders saw us right now, they’d probably have me executed,” Marzia said, laughter in her voice. She was so used to the Elders’ ridiculous, exaggerated reactions to almost anything, and they’d always joked about them, growing up.

“Ah, yes,” Elio sighed, didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move. “You must not touch the precious Chosen One’s hair. What if it all falls off? Some huge disgrace will befall the whole village.”

Marzia’s belly shook gently with her chuckles, and Elio took a breath. He really didn’t care about what they thought - but of course they’d never be that casual and friendly with each other in front of those people, because he certainly didn’t want Marzia to get in trouble. 

He reached out, placed his hand on his belly. The baby bump stretched it quite a lot now, and he stroked it, reassuring himself that he was stroking his child too. 

Marzia’s hand stopped stroking, and held still in his curls instead, the girl sighing. 

“Elio, listen. I think - I think you should get out of here.”

“You’ve bene speaking to Oliver, haven’t you?” Elio sighed, pulled himself off of Marzia’s lap, and up to sitting.

“It’s not that. But he’s right. It’s dangerous for you to still be here.”

Her brown eyes were wide, serious. 

Elio swallowed, looked ahead for a moment. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he said, turning around to look at her. “I’m the Chosen One. I have a Favorite and I am pregnant. I’m doing everything they want me to do. They wouldn’t touch me - plus, I want to meet my mother.”

“But Elio, how do you know that -“

“How do I know that they’ll find her?” Elio’s voice raised a little. “They will have to. Or I will shame them in front of the whole village. I will show them how incompetent they are. I am the Chosen One - they will listen to me.”

“Elio, please,” Marzia shook her head. Her eyes were concerned - and Elio set his jaw. Why did he have to be treated like a child all the time?

“I know what I’m doing.”

“There’s no shame in listening to other points of view,” Marzia interjected. “It’s not just down to you - you have people who can advise you. And we are saying - the Elders are still as dangerous as they’ve always been and you’re not more powerful because of who you are right now. You have Oliver now who - who could take you away, save you from here. Protect you. Protect your baby.”

“How? How exactly would that happen?” Elio’s frown deepened. “I step out of here, the people outside will take me and open me and take my baby and study me like a freak. Don’t try and say that’s not true. He can’t protect me. No one can.”

“But-“

“But if I stay here nobody will touch me. I am the Chosen One. I have all the power. And if you and Oliver can’t accept this, then - then maybe you are the ones who should leave.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Elio knew what he said was bad. Wrong. He knew it, and yet now he couldn’t take it back - nor did he want to. He ran a hand through his hair and stood, his swollen tummy making him breathe harder as he moved. 

He refused to meet Marzia’s eyes. But he knew the girl was looking at him, he knew she was hurt by his outburst. He knew he had to remove himself from the situation. 

He turned around, and walked away, stepping into their bed room and closing the wooden door behind himself. 

When he came out, later that day, Marzia was no longer in his lodging. 

Elio sighed, part-relieved, part-guilty. He wanted something to drink - some tea, perhaps - and he walked to the table, to the basket where the dried leaves for infusions sat in small boxes.

“No Marzia, today?”

Oliver’s voice almost made him startle - he hadn’t realised he was home. Oliver had begun going for walks, on his own, to pass the time, and to exercise. Elio rarely accompanied him because, every time he did, every villager they met would stop to talk to them. And Elio didn’t mind interacting with his village - but not all the time, not when he preferred being alone or with Oliver.

“She - just left. I dismissed her for this afternoon,” Elio replied. 

It was half a lie. He bit his lip, decided he wouldn’t feel even guiltier. He looked down to his tea, to which flavour he wanted to pick.

“Mmh. That’s strange. She usually never leaves without checking with me, now that you’re this far along with the pregnancy.” Oliver’s voice was calm, as he dried his hair with a piece of fabric. He must have just been for a bath.

“Oh, right. Because I can’t be left to my own devices. Now that I am - that I am, something, am I not. Like a machine. Like an animal.”

Oliver turned towards him. Stopped drying himself.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

Elio looked up. The tea leaves were still in their container; the water wasn’t even boiled. 

He looked towards Oliver, his eyebrows pinched together in displeasure. 

“How did you mean it, then?”

Oliver shook his head, took a few steps towards him.

“It was just - an observation.” He sighed, looked at him with concern. “Elio, darling. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Elio looked away. “And don’t you ‘darling’ me. We’re not married. You don’t have to tell me what to do. And I don’t have to do what you want me to.”

His heart was beating fast. Elio felt so tense; like something was mounting in his chest, frustration mixed with anger mixed with worry. He knew he wasn’t making sense - or at least, not as he wanted. He knew he should stop, and calm down. 

But Oliver took another step towards him, and reached out a hand, very gently - and Elio felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Elio. Elio, look at me. You’re white as a ghost.”

Elio tried to breathe, but his lungs wouldn’t fill with enough air. There was a pain, in the middle of his abdomen, which forced him to place both his hands on his belly, flinching from discomfort - it was like daggers slicing through him. 

Like contractions.

No. It couldn’t be. It was too soon.

“Elio. Elio, baby. Look at me. I’m right here. I’m right here.” Oliver wrapped him in his arms, and Elio felt that, but also, he couldn’t move. He was trembling; he was crying out with each stab from within his body.

“It’s alright,” Oliver repeated, over and over, against his temple. “It’s alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay in updating. My head has been somewhere else lately - as I’m sure has happened to most of us, sadly. I hope you still enjoy reading this and I hope you’ll leave me a comment.  
And I hope you’re keeping safe. Stay home xx


	31. Chapter 31. The Blessing Celebration

“What is that,” Oliver asked urgently. The childminder didn’t look towards him, kept stirring the brew in the bowl.

“Chamomile and valerian,” she answered. “It’ll calm him down.”

Oliver looked at Elio, lying down on his bed, forehead wet with sweat. “But, the baby...” he started. 

The childminder interrupted him.

“He’s not having the baby today. He’s not having any more contractions. It’s too early.”

Oliver took a breath. His eyebrows pinched in worry, he turned his gaze back to his young partner. Elio’s eyes were closed, but he was holding his hand, tight, and he seemed to have regained some colour on his face. 

Oliver hoped she was right.

“How do you feel?” Oliver asked, a couple of hours later, when Elio, slowly, woke up. 

The boy took a few moments to focus; then, slowly and carefully, he pulled himself up to sitting on the bed, with a tiny grimace, his baby bump very heavy now.

“I feel sticky and dirty. I need to wash,” Elio said, and attempted a smile, which Oliver couldn’t return.

“Are you in pain still? Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?”

“No, Oliver,” Elio rolled his eyes, smile still on his face. “I’m fine. It was just a moment. I think it was stress, or something.”

Oliver sighed. He stood, walked to Elio slowly, sat on the bed next to him, holding his eyes. 

He wanted to say things. How worried he’d been. How he didn’t trust this village, didn’t trust the level of care they could give him. How scared he was for what was to come.

But instead, he said nothing. He didn’t want to upset Elio, not right now, not when he was still fragile. 

But there wasn’t much time left to lose.

“Will you help me to the bath?” Elio asked softly, his doe-eyes looking up at Oliver, green and innocent. Trusting.

Oliver nodded, and stood, preparing to assist Elio as much as he could.

“Did - did the midwife say how long til you give birth?” Oliver asked, the next day, as he watched Elio being helped into his robes by Marzia.

“She’s not a midwife, she’s a childminder,” Elio chuckled, looking up his arm, at where the long sleeve of the tunic crinkled with soft folds. “You don’t need midwives to give birth. Nature does it all.”

Oliver swallowed, set his jaw. 

These comments, these words. Elio didn’t sound like himself. He sounded just like those people - just like the Arcadians. 

But Oliver didn’t know what to say, what words to use, to let him know of how shocking his behaviour was being. He didn’t want to upset him again.

“How long, then,” he asked again, not looking at Elio.

“I don’t know. Maybe a month? Something like that.” Elio kept looking at his tunic, then shook his head, laughed. “Marzia, no! Don’t tie it on the front. I look like a balloon.”

Oliver sighed. 

He needed air. He stood, and left the lodging, stepping out into the clearing outside, leaving Elio and Marzia’s laughter behind in the room. 

A couple of days later, under the rays of a gentle, warm sun, Elio walked onto the stage which had been built in the main clearing, for all of the Chosen One’s speeches. Oliver had gone with him, obviously, but once he’d climbed onto the stage too he’d been asked to sit down on a chair, along with the Elders, facing the audience. Only Elio stood; Orestes a few feet from him.

Oliver didn’t know what the hearing was for, hadn’t been told. He kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, especially on Orestes.

“My dear Arcadians,” the Elder began, with a huge smile on his face. It looked sinister. “My dear Arcadians, at last, the day is now soon. The Chosen One will give birth in less than a month. He is carrying a new life, a new special guide for us all. He is fulfilling his duties. He will give birth to a beautiful, healthy, perfect child.”

An applause began to rise from the audience. Oliver looked - the Arcadians were smiling, all eyes on Elio, eager. 

Orestes smiled as well, then took a couple of steps towards Elio.

“And now, for the blessing celebration,” he said, and gestured towards Marzia and her companions. “Helpers, please. Help Elio disrobe.”

Oliver frowned. What was this, now? 

He watched, as Marzia and three other helpers walked over and unlatched the robe on Elio’s chest and waist; they let it fall to the side, leaving Elio’s abdomen uncovered, the robe only hiding his shoulders and sides, trousers keeping his body away from sight, but not his belly.

Another applause rose from the audience. Flowers were thrown onto the stage. A few women were crying, in joy. 

Elio stood, unmoving, serene. Showing himself to them.

Oliver’s heart was beating fast, and he clenched his fists, set his jaw.

He stopped while they were walking back, held a few steps back from Elio, Orestes, Marzia, Kayla and their security guards still with them. 

He knew he should keep calm, but honestly, he couldn’t delay this anymore. His fists shook with tension and worry. No amount of breathing was calming his nervousness.

“Elio, I would like to speak to you, please.”

The boy turned around, stopped. “Can it not wait? I have a fitting session for my new attire now, you know that.”

Oliver took a couple of steps closer. 

“I don’t care about your fitting session. I need to talk to you now!”

Elio frowned; looked thoroughly uncomprehending. “I don’t understand-“

“What was that?” Oliver asked, arms out to his sides in exasperation, voice raised. “What was that ridiculous show?”

“Dear Favourite, please -“ Marzia tried to step in, using the moniker they were required to utilise when in public - or always, in the case of Helpers, though Marzia didn’t really heed to that in private.

“No,” Oliver interrupted her, finger pointed at the girl. “I want an answer. None of these - things, make sense. None of these rituals and shows and ceremonies - Elio said so himself. Elio never wanted to take part. And now what? Now you like it? I want to know what’s happening.”

He held his eyes on the boy, hard. Elio was still frowning, but didn’t step back. He raised his chin. Just like he used to do with the Elders, when he wanted to spite them.

“That’s a lie. None of that is true.”

“None of that - what? What are you talking about?” Oliver was incredulous. He felt Orestes’s eyes on him, though the older man had yet to say a word, unnervingly so. “I don’t recognise you, Elio. I don’t understand what the hell is going on here.”

“Why are you yelling at me?” Elio tilted his head. “You are my Favourite. This is not how you should be talking to me.”

Oliver shook his head, took another step further.

“Stop! Stop that! You’ve been brainwashed, even worse than you already were! And now they’re keeping you here, and look at you - you’re sick! They don’t know how to take care of you and you will have to give birth alone, in pain, you will be in danger! How do you not realise this?”

“I’m not sick!” Elio took a step back. “I’m well and I’m happy and my baby and I will be fine. I know it!”

“No, no you don’t!” Oliver kept his voice raised, and took another step further - and one of the guards got closer, the others tense and waiting for a signal to attack. Orestes stood, quiet; a sinister half smile on his face. “You will die giving birth to that child!”

There was a moment of silence. Oliver held Elio’s eyes, but he felt the way everybody else was looking at him; it was ominous.

“You want to take my child.” Elio’s voice was cold, flat. “You want to take me away, so that you can give my child to them, to the Outsiders. You want to have me studied.”

It sounded so eerie, and Oliver’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“What - what are you talking about?”

He took a step further, but two of the guards stepped in, held him back.

“Don’t come close. Don’t come with me. You’re not safe for me.” Elio’s voice was still flat, and he brought his hands forward on his bump, as if in protection. “I want you to leave. Now. You don’t want to be here, and I don’t want you here. I don’t want Outsiders coming to take me away.”

The guards walked to Oliver, and grabbed his arms, pulling him back. 

“Elio, no. Listen to me!” Oliver tried - but Elio had already turned his back. “Marzia. Marzia, wait,” Oliver called. 

The girl shook her head, helpless, her eyes bright, as if she could start to cry.

Orestes’s voice resounded then - creaky and sinister, as always.

“Guards, do as the Chosen One said. Take Oliver away.”

The guards obeyed at once. Seizing Oliver by the arms even tighter and pulling him back. Speechless, Oliver could only watch Elio walk away with Marzia and the Helpers; while Orestes stood, watching him being taken away, a creepy, pleased smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave a comment and let me know what you think. I’m not lying when I say that comments are what keeps me writing, especially during these times when inspiration is harder to come due to stress and worry. 
> 
> Thank you!


	32. Chapter 32. Anna

“You’ve done the right thing, my child,” Orestes said, later, watching Marzia fix Elio’s tunic around his body. 

Elio didn’t look at him. He held his chin up, his jaw tense.

“I would like to be alone for my fitting, please,” he said instead. Clearly directed at Orestes. There was no circumstance in which Elio would have wanted him around - no matter what he was saying.

His chest felt heavy. He couldn’t tell why. He was certain he’d done the right thing, with Oliver. With their situation. 

Oliver didn’t want to be there. The Elders has been saying that to him for weeks. Months, even. And he wanted to take him away, for his safety, he said. But really, what did he know? What did Elio know? If there was one thing that his life had taught him, was that he could trust no one. He could only rely on himself. Only trust himself. 

And now he needed to do that, both for himself, and for his unborn child.

“Marzia, can you bring me some tea?” he asked, looking at himself in the mirror, with a frown. He was really, really big right now. He looked ready to give birth. He couldn’t believe he still had a month or so to wait.

Marzia came back with a cup, which she placed on the tray closest to them. 

“They’ve brought a different one, this time,” she said, her large brown eyes looking up at Elio from where she was sitting on the bed. She looked down at the drink. “I think it’s - nettle, or something like that? Smells nice.”

Elio nodded, absentmindedly. He brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip, all the while still looking at himself in the mirror, and at the bump sticking out of his thin frame like something out of a scary fairytale. 

A few days went by. 

Elio was busy. Busy with ceremonies in the village, talks with the people, councils. 

He was tired. He was in pain, sometimes. And every time he looked at his bump - every time he stroked it, held it with his hands, to relieve his aches - he thought of Oliver. 

Every time, he forced himself not to linger on the thought. It wasn’t right. Oliver had tried to take him away. Oliver had not cared about the risks for Elio in leaving the village. He didn’t care. 

Perhaps he wanted for Elio to be studied - he probably seemed like a freak of nature to Oliver, too. 

So, Elio tried his best not to let his thoughts stay on Oliver - but it was hard. Every day, it got harder. He had loved Oliver. He hadn’t done what he’d done for no reason. He hasn’t slept with him as a mistake. He had loved him. 

And at some point, he’d thought that Oliver had loved him too.

Elio closed his eyes, for a long moment, feeling them burn. Then he set his jaw, and took a deep breath. This was not how the Chosen One should act. He had more important, more serious responsibilities to think about that his own, irrelevant heartbreak. His baby did not need his father. Elio would give it everything it would need, by himself.

And there was something more urgent for him to do right now. 

Elio wore his long tunic, covering his body from his shoulders to his feet. He ignored the flowers for his hair - he didn’t need them anymore. And then he left his lodging. 

He walked, as briskly as the weight of his bump allowed, to his meeting with Orestes, Cesar and some of other other Elders, in the Library. 

It was about his mother. Elio had insisted, he’d gotten angry. It had been long enough, and now he needed to know what they’d found. 

Luckily, Orestes had said Cesar had some answers now, and set the meeting. Elio had decided he would go on his own. He wasn’t scared, not anymore. All he cared about now was to find the truth.

When he arrived, the Library was lit up by candles, flames gently dancing in the otherwise dark interiors. There was incense, dissolving in the air. A guard greeted Elio as he arrived, led him through the corridors to the main hall.

“Good evening, Chosen One,” a Helper said when he arrived. She was wearing blinding white, and she smiled at him. Elio looked around himself; the Cesar and Orestes stood by the sacred book, unmoving, though there was a serene expression on their faces. The other Elders also stood - on either side of them, one next to the other, facing the middle of the room. Where Elio was.

“Have some tea, Chosen One,” the woman murmured to him, offering a cup of something. Elio took it from her, almost absentmindedly. His throat was parched, partially because of anxiety perhaps, of the sense of anticipation he felt when he thought of finally knowing what had happened to his mother; and also, he thought, because of the incense fumes that saturated that place. He took a sip of the tea, found that it was cold, pleasantly so. He drank some more.

“Welcome, Elio,” Cesar greeted. He was wearing his full, official attire of a while cloak lined with gold, the one he used during very important events at the Library. Elio wanted to roll his eyes; so much fanfare, for what would be a very short conversation.

“Don’t you think, dear Cesar, that our young Elio has become even more gorgeous, after Oliver was removed?” Orestes said. “Pregnancy and a sound mind really agree with him.”

Elio took a deep breath, set his jaw. How condescending

And Cesar nodded. He looked at Elio, up and down, slow, from his head to his feet, and back up, and then spoke. 

“Oh, yes. Stunning. He really is the most beautiful child in the village. And now with no baggage to weigh him down.”

“I would ask you stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Elio said. His voice was curt; they were already infuriating him. “I’m here for a reason. To know about my mother. So get talking.”

He didn’t know why this whole thing required an official meeting, with Helpers and the Elders all lined up as if for a ceremony. The smell of the incense was already getting to his head. Cesar needed to speak, and quickly - Elio had no time to waste here.

Orestes gave him a small smile, as if he were a parent with a wayward child - and then motioned for Cesar to go ahead.

“My dear, beautiful Chosen One,” Cesar started. “I have been searching for months. I have used all our available paths, all our records, made the necessary contacts.” He paused. Elio closed his eyes, made himself breathe. The air seemed so heavy, now. 

“But unfortunately what we found is that your mother, Anna, passed away.”

“She died?” Elio repeated. Taken aback.

“Yes, my Chosen One. She was dead by the time you turned eight years old.”

Elio swallowed. His heart was beating fast, and he wished he had somewhere to sit, because his baby bump felt so heavy right now. 

“How can you be sure,” he asked, trying to breathe slowly. “Do you have a confirmation, or - do you have something official, I don’t know.” He didn’t feel like he could even speak properly.

“We have obtained documents with her name, and your name on it, as her son.” Cesar raised his eyebrows. “We’re very sorry, Elio.”

He seemed anything but. Elio set his jaw even harder, and took a step forward towards them, though his body seemed in slow motion and refused to obey.

“I don’t - I don’t believe this - I want to see.”

“Helpers,” Orestes spoke then. “Please assist our Chosen One. He isn’t feeling well.”

What was he talking about?

“I’m fine!” Elio said. His heart was beating faster and faster. He took another breath. He was sweating. And before he even knew what was going on, he felt wetness pool around his feet.

It seemed like he couldn’t even see them, his head was spinning, his eyes unable to focus, but moments later hands were holding him, voices whispering around him, until he was made to lay back, on cushions that had appeared on the floor, fingers in his hair stroking and brushing his fringe back. 

Elio wanted to ask for Marzia; but before he could, a flame of pain tore through his stomach, all the way down to his abdomen.

“Shhh,” one of the Helpers murmured to him. Elio would have wanted to say something, to order them to stay back, but before he could another contraction ran through his whole body, and made him cry out instead.

“You’re giving birth,” another voice said. Hands were holding his arms and legs still. Tears were running down his cheeks. Elio set his teeth, tried to hold back a cry. 

“No, no, I can’t! No!”

“Yes. It’s time,” the voice said. “It’s time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t forget to comment and let me know what you think! Thank you xx


	33. Chapter 33. James

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I couldn’t... I needed to help him.”

“God, Elio. Elio? Here, shh, I’ve got you.”

“Here. Put him here. Let’s take him to my house.”

“He’s unconscious.”

“Oliver, it’s okay. Let’s make sure he’s safe first and then-“

“I’m sorry. Oliver. I - I have to go. I’ll - I’ll try and help.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay, Marzia, I’ll... it’s okay.”

“Hold him like this. Hold his head. Good. Like that. It’ll be alright.”

Oliver sat beside the bed. 

On it, Elio slept. His eyes closed. His skin, pale, paler than ever. His lips had lost the scarlet that always graced them, and were now a faint, sickly pink. He was breathing, just slowly.

Oliver sighed. He couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“He’s still got a fever,” the man next to them said, checking Elio’s forehead, touching his cheeks gently. His name was James, and he was a doctor - Oliver’s friend. And their saviour, really.

“It should subside in the next few hours, hopefully. We need to make sure we keep him hydrated.”

Oliver nodded. 

“What about his wounds? Any improvement?”

James put on his stethoscope, and looked at Oliver before leaning over to listen to Elio’s heartbeat.

“They’ve stopped bleeding after I stitched him. That’s good. He should regain some color, hopefully, in the next few hours.”

Oliver sighed again. He ran a hand through his hair, and swallowed, trying, somehow, to calm his own anxiety at least a little. Then, he asked the question he was dreading.

“When will he wake up?”

James removed the drum of the stethoscope from Elio’s chest, covered him up again with the light bed sheet.

“We need to wait. We need to give him some time. He needs to sleep, and rest.” He patted Oliver’s shoulder. “And so do you.”

He gave Oliver one last look, and then left the room quietly. 

Oliver knew what he meant to say. Come downstairs, have something to eat. You’ll be able to sleep on the bed next to Elio later, and watch over him. 

James was one of Oliver’s best friends and he knew they were safe with him; the problem was that he couldn’t make himself take his eyes off Elio.

The boy looked so fragile. So small. All his surety, his confidence, his strength, gone, as he slept, unmoving, in James’s spare room. 

Oliver knew though, that Elio would gain all of that back, if he managed to survive the night - if he fought, if his stubbornness and his spirit helped him now like they had done in his life so far. 

What Oliver didn’t know, was how to tell him that his baby had been taken away. 

Oliver had barely slept a few hours, fitfully and in broken spells, when the rays of the sun started seeping through the curtains. 

He decided to get up, simply because there was no point in forcing himself to sleep any longer. Thoughts were jumbling in his mind every minute that passed by, and worsening his anxiety - and so he stood from the bed, rubbing a hand across his eyes, and then padded to Elio. The boy seemed still asleep. Quiet. 

Oliver reached out, gently, very gently, touched his forehead, to check his temperature. He felt much cooler than the day before.

Oliver was just about to turn around, and go downstairs, to the kitchen to get him some fresh water; when Elio spoke.

“So. I’m still alive?”

“Elio,” Oliver’s voice trembled in surprise. He checked it, made sure he kept it low, turned it back around to the boy. “Elio. You’re awake.”

Elio blinked, as if trying to get his eyelids working again after so much time asleep. He frowned, groaned really softly, tried to sit up.

“Hey, hey, no.” Oliver pressed a hand to his shoulder, very, very gently. “Don’t get up.” When Elio obeyed, remaining lying down, Oliver continued. “You need to rest. You’re still weak.”

It seemed Elio was aware of that, despite his confusion. He closed his eyes back up, as if it were too tiring to keep them open; Oliver stroked his cheek, softly.

“I’m going to get you some water.” And then, remembering that Elio had no idea where they were: “you’re safe, here. You’re safe.”

He was just about to leave, promising himself to be very quick, when Elio spoke again.

“They - took the baby. Didn’t they?”

His voice was just a whisper. He’d spoken with his eyes closed. His hands by the side of his body, as if he were afraid to touch, to find out the truth - that his baby bump was gone, leaving behind only a wound, and nothing else.

Oliver sighed. His throat was dry, all of a sudden. He’d been debating how to tell Elio about what happened, but of course, Elio was more clever than that, and had figured it out on his own.

“Yes,” he answered, quietly. He watched Elio’s face; his eyes stayed closed. The boy sighed.

“I don’t - I don’t remember much.” Another deep breath. “Where are we?”

Oliver pulled a chair closer to the bed, and sat down. 

“We’re at a friend’s house. His name is James. He’s a doctor, we’ve been friends since college. He’s been looking after you. Stitched you up. You’ll be okay.”

Elio swallowed again, blinked, until his eyes were able to open once more. 

“What happened.”

“We found you with Marzia. Outside the village. After - after what they did.” Oliver took a breath, before continuing. Remembering triggered his anger, towards that village; the people who ran it. “Marzia saved you. They abandoned you, wanted rid of you. She stayed with you, until she knew you were safe. She couldn’t... she couldn’t do anything for. For the baby.”

Elio’s eyes were now red. He blinked again, though no tears appeared.

“How did you... how did she find you.”

“When I left the village, I went to James. I borrowed his car, and he came with me to help. I was trying to find a way to come back in to - to try and talk to you. I came back every day.” Oliver paused for a moment. “Then one day, I heard Marzia’s voice, and I saw you with her. I think - I think she knew I wouldn’t be far away.”

He watched, as Elio swallowed again, with difficulty this time. His eyes even brighter, the boy took a stifled breath.

“I’m - I’m sorry. For what - what I’ve done. I don’t know - I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I did what I did.” He closed his eyes again. There was a flush to his cheeks, as if his fever was back. “I - don’t know. I’m sorry.”

He seemed so confused, so broken. In body and spirit. 

And Oliver felt for him. Yes, he’d been hurt himself, he’d been confused, to say the least. But right now, all he wanted was for Elio to get well. Get well, regain his strength. And then, they would talk. Find out what had really happened.

“You need to rest, now.” Oliver reached out; stroked Elio’s fringe away from his forehead, from his eyes. “We’re safe here. James is my friend. He won’t tell anyone, and he can look after you.” He watched Elio take another deep breath. “We’re fine. We can talk later.”

Elio nodded, weakly. Oliver stroked his hair, soft, gentle; watched him fall back into a restless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short(ish) chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. Posting smaller chapters helps me keep in the swing of things, while I organise the story - it’s quite a complicated one! But at least Elio is out of that village now. 
> 
> Your comments keep me inspired, too, so please do let me know your theories and your thoughts! Xx


	34. Chapter 34. The future

“He seems to be recovering well.”

James came into the kitchen, drying his hands after having been to wash them in the bathroom. 

Sat at the kitchen table, Oliver held his coffee mug between his palms, the warmth and the good news allowing him to take a deep, relieved breath.

James sat across from him, cleared his throat.

“The fact that he’s so young helped, for sure. He’s resilient. But,” and here he set his jaw. “He is really young for having been through so much already.”

Oliver looked down at his cup. His cheeks were warm now, but with a feeling of guilt.

“When I met him, I - I have to be honest, I didn’t believe what they said in the village. Not completely, at least. A boy who could bear children, you can imagine... it sounds more like a legend, than something real, in flesh and blood in front of you.”

James nodded, and Oliver continued.

“I did try to look after him, though. You have to believe me.”

“I believe you,” the doctor nodded again. “And, his physiology, I... of course I’ve never seen anything like that. But if there’s something that every scientist knows, is that nature always surprises you.” He sighed. “Of course, we’d need to - examine him, study - what he can do, his body...”

“That’s the problem,” Oliver interrupted. “That’s what we don’t want. That’s what we were scared of, what he was scared of - why he was so paranoid towards the end. You know what the authorities would do, if this got out.”

James nodded again. His eyes were sincere. Oliver knew he could trust him. “Of course.”

Oliver held his eyes for a few more moments, and then sighed again. He looked at his mug - the coffee was cold now. 

He didn’t like what he was about to say. 

“I don’t even know what to do, at this point. We were lucky to get out alive. We were lucky to get Elio back alive. Who knows what they’ve done with the baby, who knows- what they would do if we went back.” He looked up. James was staring at him, with a look of understanding. “I just need to protect Elio, now.”

“I understand,” James said, and then paused for a moment. “This will sound - cold, maybe, right now. Clinical. But as a physician, I have to tell you.” He took another breath. “After what happened, I don’t know if Elio will be able to have other children. In the future. I just wanted you to know.”

Oliver swallowed, but then shook his head, urgently. 

“I don’t care. I don’t - even if I never have children, in my life. I love him, James. Whatever happens, and if he still wants me, I - I want to be with him. I want him to come out of this okay. Be happy.”

James nodded again, a small smile stretching his mouth. Then he reached out, patted Oliver’s hand with his, and got up, leaving Oliver to his thoughts. 

“You can - sleep here. If you want, you know.”

Elio had regained some colour on the apples of his cheeks, even though he still looked thin and exhausted. 

Oliver smiled, walked over to the boy’s bed, sat on the edge of it, taking Elio’s hand in his. 

“I didn’t want to risk hurting you. You’re still healing,” he said softly, stroking Elio’s fringe away from his forehead. 

Elio smiled too. “You won’t. I’m strong.”

Oliver held his eyes. It was true. Elio was the strongest person Oliver had ever met. 

“I know.”

He watched as Elio stretched his lips into another small, tight lipped smile, and then turned his head, looking to the window, his gaze travelling out to the blue sky and the green of the trees outside. 

“What do you think we would have called him. Our child.”

It was such a sudden question. Oliver held his gaze on Elio’s face, but couldn’t help but frown. 

“Him?”

“I don’t - I don’t know if it’s a boy. I just - had a feeling.” Elio swallowed, took a breath. “I thought about it. I thought, that our baby must be a boy, because - because that’s why they kept him. Hoping that he’ll be a ‘special’ one, like me. But then-“ Elio swallowed again, and this time, it was with more difficulty. “But then I thought that maybe it was a girl. Maybe it was a girl, and they just. Maybe they just got rid of her.”

Oliver looked down; shook his head. He couldn’t let Elio torture himself like that. 

“Hey,” he murmured, gently nudging Elio’s face towards him. “Don’t think these things.” 

Elio pushed his lips together, so hard that the delicate skin turned pale under the pressure. His eyes were now bright; a lonely, stray tear escaped, streaming down his cheek, and Elio brushed it away with his hand, a failed attempt to mask his emotion. 

“I’m sorry. But it’s - it was our child. My child with you. And I -“ he looked away, back towards the window, his forehead creased now, his eyes still bright, but hardening with anger. “For a moment, I really did think we could - win this. That we could turn it around, save that place, be - be a family.” He looked down, at where his and Oliver’s hand were still entwined. “I was really deluded, wasn’t I.”

Oliver swallowed. 

He had never seen so much sorrow in Elio’s face, never heard so much heartbreak in his voice. 

He stopped, and took a breath, trying to infuse his voice with as much certainty and confidence as he could. 

He needed to fix this. 

“We will find out what happened. We will take our baby back.”

Elio looked up, his throat moving, as he swallowed around a breath. “How?”

“We’ll find a way,” Oliver said. He reached out, his palm stroking Elio’s hair gently, and he pressed a kiss to the boy’s curls. “We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave me a comment if you are still reading! Please 🙌🏻


	35. Chapter 35. The Plan

James looked at Oliver, holding his eyes for a long moment. Then he went back to the dishes, putting them away in the cupboard as he dried them. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“I have to do it, James,” Oliver kept his expression firm. “I can’t let them do this. Not to Elio, and not to us. They’ve done enough damage already.”

James sighed, but nodded.

Oliver continued.

“And perhaps something good can come about for the people in that village, too. They’re living under a cult. They’re tortured, abused, brainwashed. Perhaps we can do something for them, too.”

“Yes, you told me.” James nodded again. “But, you know. This might be bigger than any of us. It’ll be difficult to bring about change. Those people, their traditions - if they really go back centuries, I’m not sure there’s anything you or I can do for them.”

“I know. But we may as well try.”

“James will be here with you. I won’t be gone long. I need to find a way to contact Marzia, see what’s going on, so that we can - maybe, put together a plan.”

Elio was sitting up on the bed. It had been three days, and he felt much better; only his face was still pale, his lips pressed together in reaction to Oliver’s words.

“I want to come too.”

“Elio, no. It’s not - it’s not safe. You’re still injured.”

“No. I’m fine! And I know them better than anyone, you know that.”

Oliver held his eyes. He wished he could tell him what he really thought - that though Elio had known those people his whole life, that hadn’t helped him the first time around. 

But he didn’t want to upset him further.

“This is just a first step. Just a way to figure out what we’re going to do. Once that’s done, and we have a better idea, then - then you can help.” He reached out, covered Elio’s hand in his. “But I need you to rest now, gain your strength back. It’s important.”

Elio’s eyes were wide. Holding Oliver’s, firm and inquisitive, and Oliver knew Elio was trying to read him, trying to figure out his thoughts. He waited, until Elio relented - nodded, minutely, and then looked away.

“You’re doing so much better,” Oliver said, softly. “It makes me really happy.”

The boy looked back at him. His gaze was serious, now. He looked older, in those moments, and Oliver knew Elio’s brain was working at full speed to work out details, think of a strategy. He’d been groomed to be a leader all his life, after all.

“There is a place. Under the Third Hall,” Elio said, still holding Oliver’s eyes. “It can be reached from outside, from under the village’s boundary. It’s a tunnel that was used as a prison, and so there’s steel bars between the village and the outside - but Marzia and I used to go there when he hoped we could meet someone from outside, as children.” He swallowed. “I know Marzia will try to use it, now. She’ll know I told you about it. Perhaps this is a way.”

Oliver nodded, his eyes glinting. “Yes. Yes, this is useful.”

“You need to be careful, though,” Elio’s eyes became suddenly worried. “There’s guards outside, they’ve kept them there since the prison days, even though they’ve forgotten about that passage now and they don’t know it’s being used. You have to be careful,” he repeated.

Oliver smiled, small, but with surety. “I will.”

They decided it would be best for Oliver to go that night, hoping the darkness would help with not being noticed.

They stayed in bed, that afternoon, while they waited; holding each other, Elio’s head pressed to Oliver’s chest. Oliver tried to sleep a little, but with not much success. 

“I wanted to,” Elio started; then took a breath, moved so he could look up at Oliver. “I wanted to - thank you, for all of this. I haven’t said it yet.”

Oliver shook his head, reached out to brush a curl behind Elio’s ear. 

“You don’t have to thank me. Of course not.”

“But I do. Especially after - after what I did. How I behaved. You could have left me there, you could - you could be back to your old life, and not in this mess, now.”

Oliver’s hand rested on Elio’s cheek, and his thumb caressed Elio’s lower lip, softly. 

“Well, you said it. That was my old life. Everything’s changed now. You changed my life. And I don’t regret one thing. I’m glad of all the decisions I made, because they brought me you.”

He watched, as Elio blinked; he thought he could see brightness in his eyes, even in the darkness of the room. 

He reached out, and kissed him, softly, on the lips.

And Elio sighed. Smiled, a small smile, but it shone like a small speckle of happiness.

“Kiss me again.”

Oliver could do nothing but obey. He joined their mouths again. Started the kiss slow, just pressure on Elio’s lips, those full, soft lips that he had missed so much. And then, when Elio opened his mouth, let their tongues touch, he pressed further, kissing him deeply. 

Elio moaned quietly in his mouth, and, of course, Oliver felt it in his abdomen, inside his chest, where a growl wanted to respond, where desire for this beautiful, stunning young man wanted to rise up again. A young man who knew exactly what he was doing to Oliver, and whose hand reached up to tangle his fingers into Oliver’s hair, gently nudge him to roll and lie on top of Elio.

“Make love to me,” Elio murmured, on Oliver’s lips. 

And Oliver had to close his eyes tightly, take a deep breath to gain all the restraint he could.

“We can’t, baby,” he whispered back, looking Elio in the eyes. “You’re still healing.”

“Then can I do something for you?”

Before Oliver could respond, Elio reached down; pushed Oliver’s underwear out of the way, took him into his hand, his palm warm and smooth as the boy held him, in a tight fist, starting to move up and down.

“Fuck, Elio,” Oliver managed to breathe out, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead against the boy’s shoulder, as he let him work him, faster and faster. He had missed this, more than he realised.

“Imagine it’s me,” Elio murmured, against Oliver’s cheek, against his mouth. He had his eyes closed, too, and seemed to like this as much as Oliver, which aroused the older man even further. “Imagine it’s my body. Gripping you like this, squeezing you.” His hand moved faster. Oliver groaned, his body letting himself in to sensation more and more. 

“Imagine you’re fucking me. Hard and fast just like you know how,” and then Elio’s hand slowed down, until he was almost just holding Oliver in his palm. Elio continued, his voice low. “And then you slow down, until you’re still, inside me. So we can listen to our heartbeats.”

Oliver nudged his face up; he joined their mouths again. Kissed Elio deeply, while the boy held him, still, and tight. Then, Oliver covered Elio’s hand with his. Twined their fingers over his sex. And they started moving again, Elio’s voice accompanying them. 

“Then you start fucking me again, hard, and fast, fast. Until you come, deep inside me.”

And Oliver came, all over both of their palms, with a stifled, relieved groan. 

“James has been very good to me,” Elio murmured some time later, as they held each other in bed, Oliver behind him, his arms careful around Elio’s middle. “I don’t think I’ve thanked him yet.”

“Yeah, he’s a good one. I owe him a lot, and not just for this.”

Elio played with Oliver’s fingers, absentmindedly.

“How long have you known him?”

“Since college,” Oliver said softly, his eyes closed.

There was a moment of silence; then Elio spoke again.

“I guess. I guess he was - he was your boyfriend?”

His voice was so small, so tentative. It made Oliver’s heart break with tenderness. Elio sounded so young, just like his seventeen years suggested he should be - it didn’t happen often, and Oliver smiled.

“We dated, for a bit.” He kissed Elio on the side of his neck, chuckled softly on his skin. It was an unexpected moment of normality, and Oliver relished it more than he thought he would. “Now, don’t tell me you’re jealous, hey?” he teased softly, nuzzling the curls on Elio’s nape.

“I’m - I’m not,” Elio said, though his uncertain voice betrayed his words. Oliver smiled again, his heart swelling, and he wished he could hold Elio so tight against his chest that they would become one body. 

He spoke again, infusing his words with all the warmth and love he was feeling right at that moment.

“Good. You shouldn’t be. I love you. And only you.”

It seemed to work. Elio’s body relaxed in his arms. Then his chest rose, and fell, with a deep sigh.

“Please, please. Be careful,” Elio said.

And Oliver nodded against his shoulder.

“I will. I promise you. I will find a way to speak to Marzia. And we will fix this mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon?? Your comments keep me inspired!! 🙌🏻 Hope you enjoyed it x


	36. Chapter 36. The envelope

James’s hands were careful, slow, methodical.

Elio observed how the doctor moved, as he examined him. Checking his eyes, his mouth, listening to his breathing and his heartbeat. Measuring his temperature, making sure his wound was healing properly. 

It was all things Elio had never seen performed in real life, only read about in their secret books. The practitioner at the Village was no more than a generic healer, who tried out traditional ointments and treatments until one of them worked. 

This, what James was doing, was all very fascinating to Elio.

“You’re doing much better,” James said, stepping back from him, and putting away his stethoscope. “You’re healing well. Good.”

He gave Elio a small smile, and then cleared his throat, and looked away, going to wash his hands in the wash basin in his home studio. 

Elio tilted his head. James seemed - awkward. Unsure. As if he didn’t know just how to act around Elio. 

So Elio decided to speak, if James wasn’t going to say anything more. 

“Do you think it’ll be much longer?” 

James looked up, his gaze quizzical. 

“Oliver. He’s been gone since - midnight. It’s six in the morning now,” Elio elaborated. 

James looked down at the hands that he was drying. 

“I’m not sure. The village is about two hours from here. And two hours to come back. I think - it’s still too soon. We need to give him some time.” He looked to Elio, finally. “But try not to worry. I think Oliver knows what he’s doing.” 

Elio nodded, even though James had already looked away from him. 

He didn’t know what to do, and so he let his eyes wander around in the doctor’s studio. There were frames on the walls; a certificate of practice, his graduation document; photos of him with various different people. Elio’s eyes scanned the images quickly. He knew what he was looking for; but there was no photo of James with Oliver. 

Elio decided to speak, before the silence became more awkward and before James realised what he was doing. 

“James, I - I wanted to thank you. For what you’ve done, and - and what you’re still doing.” He tried a small smile. “So... thank you.”

James looked up, a smile on his lips mirroring Elio’s. “Don’t mention it, kid. It’s all good.” And then, he sighed. “Oliver has done a lot for me over the years, so... I’m happy to be able to give something back.”

“He - he told me you used to go out together.” Elio swallowed. Was that too direct? Too abrupt? He wasn’t used to direct conversations with people he didn’t really know well - conversations at an equal level, at least - and so he wasn’t really sure how they should be handled. He hoped his words weren’t rude. 

But James only chuckled, quietly. “We did. For a short time.”

Elio tilted his head, his curiosity piqued, and pushing him into asking more. “What happened?”

James cleared his throat. He walked back to his desk, leaning on it, half sitting. 

“We were young. We just wanted to have fun, I guess. I would have - I would have wanted it to last longer, maybe. But it wasn’t the right time.”

He paused for a moment, perhaps realising what he had said. Elio looked at him; until James looked up, met his eyes. Smiled again. 

“It was a very long time ago. He has you, now. And your child.” He cleared his throat again. “I know you’re young, but I hope you’ll be careful with him.”

It seemed that was as far as the conversation would go. Elio took a breath, and watched James, as the man put away his paperwork in silence. 

“Oliver! Oliver, you’re back!” 

Elio ran to Oliver as fast as his legs carried him, as soon as he saw him on the door. He jumped at his neck, held him tight for a long moment. “Are you alright?” he asked, frantic, a moment later. 

“Yes,” Oliver held him back, and then pulled away to look at him in the face. He seemed tired, exhausted in fact, but okay. James stood a few steps away, watching. 

“I don’t think - I don’t think they saw me. Thankfully.”

“Those guards are idiots,” Elio shook his head, his eyes shining with relief. “Did you see Marzia?”

Oliver looked to James, then back to Elio. 

“No. But you were right, she tried to contact us. She left a letter, in that place you told me. Hanging from the prison bars.”

Elio looked at him with wide, anxious eyes, and Oliver reached into his pocket to pull out a black envelope, and offered it to Elio. 

“I thought you might like to read it for yourself. I’ve already read it.”

Elio took the envelope from Oliver, and immediately smiled. 

“It’s the prayer sign”, he said, pointing to a drawing on the back of the envelope. “She made it look like this was an offering left by someone wanting to bless the place. The elders wouldn’t have touched it, the guards don’t care.”

With impatient hands, Elio pulled out the piece of paper held inside the envelope. It was crumpled, a little torn at the corners; Marzia’s normally neat handwriting looked rushed, some words crossed out where she had made mistakes but didn’t have time to start over again. 

With his heart in his throat, Elio began to read. 

_My dear, dear Elio and dear Oliver_

_I really hope you are both okay. Elio, I really, really hope you made it. But I left you in Oliver’s care; I know I can trust him. I know he cares for you. Though all I can do is hope, I really believe you are out there and you will be able to read this._

_After the day I left you, I was afraid for the baby, I didn’t even know what they’d done or what their plan was. But I have seen him, Elio. I have seen him. It’s a boy! A little boy. I heard him cry. He seemed alive and healthy._

_Orestes gave him to Anthea, I am not allowed to see him. But yesterday, she asked me to bring her all of your clothes, and all of your things. So I did. And I saw him again. He was sleeping, but he still seemed okay. He looks like you. He’s very beautiful._

_In the main hall today, I heard people saying the elders will present him to the village on Sunday. They will say you died. I think they will say that Oliver is dead too - you know that if the Chosen One dies, his Favourite has to be killed._

_Please come to the Prison on Friday. If we can break the bars, I will let you in, and we will find a way to take the baby back, somehow._

_You must be heart broken. But don’t lose hope. _

_And I really hope you manage to see this letter. On time. _

_It’s all I can do. _

_Your friend, forever _

_Marzia. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek.... getting close now!


	37. Chapter 37. Return

‘We need to go back,’ Elio had said, straight away. 

Oliver had looked into his eyes, expecting to find fear there, worry, pain. 

But instead, Elio’s green irises were steely. His jaw was rigid. His eyes were bright, but it was obvious the boy was holding onto his emotions, not letting any of them transpire aside from anger, and urgency.

‘I know,’ Oliver had answered.

‘We have waited too long already. We need to do something, right now.’

Oliver had put his hand on top of Elio’s, tried to make the boy look at him, but he refused, looking away instead, his chest rising and falling with accelerated breaths full of anxiety.

‘Marzia said Friday. We need to meet with her if we want to have any hope of this working out.’ He’d squeezed Elio’s hand, gently. ‘The last thing we want is to be found out by the Elders, for those crazy people to capture us, or - worse. Then, there really will be no hope for our son.’

Elio’s jaw was still rigid, his lips pressed together and pale with the force of it. He still refused to meet Oliver’s eyes, but he kept quiet - and that’s how Oliver knew that Elio, though reluctantly, agreed.

He knew Marzia’s letter had made everything all the more real. It had made him really realise that their baby existed; that he’d been born, that he was made of flesh and bones - and that he wasn’t with them. That he had been taken by a bunch of madmen who intended for him to be yet another tool at their service to enslave their village. 

And just like for him, the letter had had the same effect on Elio, amplified tenfold by the fact that the baby had been taken, newborn, directly from Elio’s arms. 

Oliver understood.

But they needed to keep their minds clear, and focussed, as much as possible. Oliver didn’t know what they were going to do; but he knew he was going to do everything he could, to make things right. To end this.

He watched Elio sleep, that night, after dinner. Elio had hardly eaten anything - he already ate very little, but that night he really could only stomach some bread, half an apple, no matter how many times Oliver had gently reminded him he needed to get his strength back. 

James had given him a sleeping pill, to help him rest - and thankfully, now Elio was laying down on his bed, quiet, undisturbed.

“Everything okay?” James asked, his voice soft, stepping into the room carefully.

Oliver nodded, his eyes still fixed on Elio. 

“He’s asleep.”

“We need to give him some time.” James sighed. “What he’s gone through - what you both have gone through - is a lot. For anyone.”

Oliver looked down. Took a breath.

“I need to go by myself. Back to the village.”

There was silence, for a moment.

“I thought you-“

“I can’t risk them finding Elio again. I can’t risk them taking him, hurting him. I can’t. And he’s still weak now, because of what they did, and you’ve seen him tonight - he’s upset. And I understand, I understand completely, but - I need to protect him. Because I couldn’t before.”

James cleared his throat.

“He’ll want to go with you.”

“I know,” Oliver said. Reaching out his hand, he brushed Elio’s fringe away from the boy’s forehead. It was so good to feel his skin cool now, after days of it burning up with fever. 

Oliver stood, and walked towards the door. He waited for James to follow, and then, once in the hallway, he closed the door behind them.

“Is there anything I can do?” James asked, his expression unsure, worried. 

Oliver shook his head. He felt guilty for involving James in all this, but he couldn’t have done it without him.

“No. Thanks. You’ve done more than enough.”

Friday, two days later, came soon enough.

Elio was still asleep that morning - he’d been up until very late, insomnia keeping him awake and anxiety giving him nightmares when he did manage to fall asleep. 

Oliver padded downstairs. He knew James would be in his studio.

And there was something he needed to do.

“James?” he called, stopping by the studio door. 

Sat at his desk, James looked up.

And even know he was sure of what he was about to say, Oliver had to fight to find enough voice to speak.

“When he wakes up, please, don’t tell him where I’ve gone. When he wakes up, just - try to keep him calm. Please.”

James shook his head, his expression that of a man who’d known exactly what Oliver had been about to say.

“He’ll know, Oliver. I won’t be able to -“

“Just - please, try,” Oliver insisted.

James held his eyes. “You can’t do this to him.”

“I have to,” Oliver took a deep breath. He’d made his decision. It was for the best. “I need to. I can’t let them near him again. They already have my son. I can’t let them take Elio from me, too.”

“Look, can’t we - can’t we call the police? The authorities? There must be someone who can help...”

“If we do, they’ll kill the child. They’ll kill everyone. The law, as we know it, doesn’t exist for them. You don’t - you don’t know them. Trust me.”

Oliver’s voice was firm.

And James didn’t respond. Only looked at Oliver, his expression resigned - but Oliver knew he understood. 

“I will be back. I will,” Oliver said. And then left.

Elio padded down to the kitchen a little later. He was wrapped in an oversized sweater; his curls were tangled, and his face was pale, but he seemed a little better. A little stronger.

And he looked like someone who already knew what had happened.

“Oliver,” he said, looking to James. “Where is Oliver.”

“He’ll be back soon,” James responded, without looking at him.

“He’s gone. He’s gone to the village. Hasn’t he?” Slowly, Elio took a few steps towards James. “James? Please, James. Tell me the truth.”

“He’ll be back soon.”

Elio frowned, his jaw setting. He looked away; took a deep breath, and his hands closed into fists by his sides.

“You need to take me to him.”

“I can’t do that, Elio. Please don’t ask me to.”

“They will kill him, James,” Elio raised his voice, took a step towards the doctor. His eyes were steely, and he suddenly looked older, way older than his years. 

“They will kill him. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.”

James shook his head. 

“I think he knows, Elio. He doesn’t want you to get hurt. You need to have some faith.”

“James, please. I know them much better than he does. If they catch him, if they kill him - we will never know, and we will never be able to do anything to help him. Please.”

His heart was beating so fast, but he knew he needed to keep his mind steady, keep focused - he needed to fight, tooth and nail, do whatever he had to to get to Oliver, to stay by his side. He couldn’t leave him again.

But James did not answer. He only stood, without looking at him, and started to walk away. 

Elio could not let him go.

“I know you’re doing what he asked you,” he spoke again, his voice still raised, but now, begging. “I know you want to be loyal. But I also know -“ and he reached out, took James’s arm, to make him stop and listen. “I also know that you’re worried for him. James, if we - if I let him do this by himself, we might not see him. Ever again.” He stopped, took a breath, when his eyes began to burn. He needed to stay strong. “I know that you care about him. I know that you love him. Maybe just - just as much as I do. And we need to save him, James. I’m begging you. I could go on my own, but I won’t - I won’t get there on time.” He brushed a tear away from his cheek, angrily. “Please. Please.”

He held James’s eyes bravely. The stretch of seconds ticking by between them seemed longer than hours, every moment separating him from Oliver further and further. His heart drummed in his chest so fast that he felt lightheaded, almost sick.

“Please,” he asked again.

And James, finally, responded.

“Fine,” he murmured, his voice just a whisper. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave me a comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> And to all of you who always read my stories and always leave comments - THANK YOU. I cherish you more than you’ll ever know. ❤️


	38. Chapter 38. The prison

“I need you to wait here. Please.”

Elio held James’s eyes as he unbuckled his seatbelt, readying himself to climb out of James’s jeep. They were parked not far from the village, behind a patch of forest that blocked the view from over there.

“Let me come with you. You’ll need help,” came the answer - and Elio was expecting it.

“It‘ll be more helpful it you wait here. You don’t know the village, and - it would be dangerous for you to be there. It’s best if you wait, and pick us up when we leave.” He refused to think there could be any other outcome to that mission.

James sighed, shook his head. “Oliver will kill me for having brought you here,” he lamented, his voice full of worry and yet, resignation.

“Oliver needs us to help him right now,” Elio replied, firm, and determined. He gave James one last look, and then jumped out of the car. 

The tunnel was narrower and darker than Elio remembered, or perhaps it seemed so now, as he walked slowly, both mindful of his still healing body and careful of any noise or movement from anywhere. 

He wasn’t scared, not right now at least and he promised himself he wouldn’t be scared later either. He just wanted to catch up to Oliver, hopefully find him with Marzia somewhere, thinking up a plan - or perhaps even sneaking out already, the baby with them, having left right under the Elders’ nose. Elio swallowed, and frowned, allowing himself to dream for one short moment.

Slowly, feeling the rough walls with his hands, Elio walked, until he saw the faint light that meant he was close to the prison. 

He walked a little faster. Narrowed his eyes, and finally saw the metal door that led to the prison, usually chained shut but now open. It was a good sign - it meant Marzia had opened it to let Oliver in.

But when Elio stepped into the hallway, and saw a person behind the bars of the prison, his blood ran immediately cold.

“Marzia?” he called softly, fearful of being heard.

The person looked up, slowly. Elio could not see well, as the cell was not lit by any light, but he saw her eyes - it was Marzia indeed. He walked closer to the cell door. It was locked. 

“Elio!” Marzia called, getting up from where she was crouched on the floor, holding onto the metal bars for support. “Elio! What are you doing here!”

Elio reached out to touch her hands from the other side of the bars. Her skin was cold as ice. Now he could see her face - and she was injured. There was a long, huge bruise across her cheekbone, blood on her forehead and neck. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Marzia, oh god. What did they do to you?”

“Elio, you shouldn’t be here,” Marzia’s voice was feeble but urgent. “You shouldn’t have come, Elio. They’re waiting for you.”

Elio set his jaw, and held on to Marzia’s hands tighter through the bars. 

“What happened? Tell me what happened.”

“They have Oliver,” Marzia shook her head, the corner of her mouth turning down, her expression a picture of worry and heartbreak. “They’re - they’ve taken him, and they’ll kill you if they see you, Elio. Please, please you need to get out of here.”

Elio ground his teeth. 

He could feel his heart beat in his ears. He felt almost light headed - this was the worst possible scenario. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t leave now, of course not. He was here to save his son, and he would save Oliver too, no matter what it took. Oliver, and Marzia. He took a deep breath, feeling anger run through his veins, anger and fear at what they’d done to Marzia - at what they were certainly going to do to Oliver. 

But anger, he could use; fear, he needed to push that away. He’d never been scared of them in his life, he couldn’t be scared now.

“I will come back. I will come back and get you out of here, no matter how.” He squeezes Marzia’s hands again. And even though he could hear her, calling for him, begging him to leave, he carried on through the tunnel, and up to where he knew it would lead. 

Once he reached the surface, Elio considered his options. 

There weren’t guards around - which was already strange as it was. However, it confirmed Elio’s guess - they didn’t think he’d be back. They didn’t care for him. The elders were, very probably, all in the Main Hall. Getting ready for their stupid ceremony, getting ready to pretend the baby they were in possess of had been born into the village rightfully, and not stolen from Elio’s womb. Getting ready to tell the Villagers that Elio had died, and to kill Oliver publicly.

There wasn’t a way to enter the Main Hall secretly. It was closed off to the outside completely aside from the main entrance. Elio thought for a moment, but he had already decided what he was about to do. 

He’d grown up in this village. He’d been groomed to be its leader since he was a child. He’d been their leader for a good long while. 

He wasn’t scared. There was nothing that they could do that could hurt him more than what they would do if he didn’t intervene, now.

Elio breathed, and walked to the entrance, folding his hands into fists, his muscles tense - ready to walk into the Hall, fearless, with nothing to lose, and his whole world to save. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short-ish chapter but I hope you don’t mind. And I promise that I will update as soon as I can! Thanks for still being here with me. Love you x


	39. Chapter 39. Voices

Elio took a deep breath. 

His heart was beating faster, but he knew it was because of the adrenaline in his veins; because he was scared, but not for himself. He was scared for Oliver, and for their son.

He took another breath - why were his lungs not cooperating? - and forced himself to walk further forward, the gravel under his feet giving a soft, quiet noise. It was all eerily silent, around. 

But Elio wasn’t scared.

He crossed the entrance to the Main Hall. Followed the hallway along, the one that took to the large, central room where meetings and meals and councils were held. He knew the Elders would be there. 

And they were.

“Ah. Look who has arrived. We knew dear Marzia would speak.”

Elio could have never forgotten Orestes’s voice, in a million years, no matter how hard he tried. 

“And we thought you’d died, dear Elio. You are most resilient.”

Elio set his jaw. His heart beat fast in his chest, blood cursing through his veins and echoing in his ears like a flooded river. 

It was all the anger and the pain from all those years that made him feel like that, and he knew it. 

He stepped up, and spoke. 

“Where is Oliver. Where is my son.”

Orestes raised his eyebrows. Then looked toward the other elders, towards Cesar.

“You came here too early, my darling. The ceremony hasn’t started yet.”

“Fuck your ceremony.” Elio felt a frisson of something in his very bones. It felt good to swear at those people, to release his anger and disgust like he’d never been able to do. “I want Oliver and my son back. Now.”

It was Cesar who spoke then.

“How do you know they’re still alive? How do you know we haven’t killed them yet.”

Elio felt like growling.

“I’m tired of you trying to blow smoke in my eyes. I won’t fall for your bullshit anymore.” He took another step further, even though his heart was drumming crazily in his chest. “I want Oliver and my son. Right now.”

“Or what? Huh, child?” Cesar looked at him straight in the eye, lips twisted into a derisive smirk.

“Or I will kill you. I will kill you all.”

Elio held Cesar’s gaze. He knew the older man was trying to intimidate him, and he wasn’t going to let him.

From the corner of Elio’s eyes, Orestes spoke.

“Guards. Take this child. Now. Kill him. Make him disappear, for good this time.”

His face was hard, expressionless. Ruthless, and the four guards who were standing by the sides, waiting for orders, stepped forward immediately, obeying without question, walking toward Elio.

“No. No, wait.” Cesar intervened.

The guards stopped, and Cesar looked at Orestes. “I’ll deal with this. As we discussed.”

There was an eerie look of understanding between the two. 

Elio kept his eyes on them, on Cesar who now walked towards him, slow, smirk still in place.

“You never listened, little child.” His voice was lower now. Elio refused to back down. 

“No matter what we said. You’ve always been stubborn. A real pain, a pain in our fucking back. All these years.”

He stopped in front of Elio. His eyes were hard, the hardest Elio had ever seen them. 

“And you had one function, one goddamned task - you were promised to me, after all these years, and what did you do? You went and whored yourself out to an Outsider.”

His next movement was so quick, so swift, that Elio could have never have seen it happen. He felt light headed already, the low snarling of Cesar’s voice surrounding him like a pack of wolves poising to jump on their prey. 

And when Cesar moved, Elio almost didn’t see him, until he felt the hard ground against his back. The gravel digging into his shoulder blades; Cesar’s knee holding his legs down, bones grinding painfully, Cesar’s hand trapping his wrist to the floor. His fingers around Elio’s neck, squeezing.

Elio looked up, struggling to breathe, finding Cesar’s face close to his, his eyes blazing.

“You whore,” Cesar snarled. “You thought you could get away with this. Make me look like an idiot in front of this whole village. Didn’t you!” He slammed Elio’s head back onto the ground, and the fingers around the boy’s throat made him splutter for air. “You disgusting slag. That’s what you are. Put it in this pretty head of yours.”

“Get off of me.” Elio tried to take a breath. Tried to push Cesar away with his other hand, but the man was too strong, and Elio was still injured.

“But now I have you here. Now you’ve come back to me. Haven’t you. And I can do whatever I want with you.” Cesar’s hand slid up on Elio’s throat, until it reached his chin, and he pushed it up to get Elio’s face directly in front of his. 

“I can take what’s mine, right in front of everyone, right now,” he sneered. “You’re going to be my whore. Mine. You’re going to bear my children. You’re going to do everything I say. I will keep you chained to my bed, there to do my bidding for as long as I want. Do you hear me?”

He slammed Elio’s head back again. 

Elio felt light headed; his vision blurring. 

And even then, he could still feel the Elders’ eyes on him, on them; watching, doing nothing to stop this. 

He tried to rebel once more, tried to push Cesar off; but he was too weak.

And yet; something told him to hold on. Something; a voice, that resounded, loud, in the silence of the Hall.

“Let him go. Right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s harder to write these days, so I’m posting shorter chapters to help keep the momentum going. I hope you don’t mind. 
> 
> If you are reading this story, and you got to this point, please consider leaving me a comment to tell me what you think. It helps me more than you’ll ever know.   
Thank you


	40. Chapter 40. Our son

“Let him go. Right now.”

Elio held his breath, feeling his heart skip a beat. 

It was a voice he recognised. A female voice. Though Cesar still held him down by his throat, Elio did all he could to turn and look towards the voice. 

Kora, the villager he had freed from an abusive marriage, was standing there - jaw tight, hands closed in fists. Next and behind her, many other villagers stood; with the Helpers who had been Elio’s friends.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cesar snarled, above him. Elio grit his teeth, tried to pull together some more strength to push him off - but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“We said let Elio go, you scum of the earth,” Kora continued - and she didn’t sound nor look scared. Elio wanted to say something - tell them to leave, not put themselves in danger, because the Elders were crazy.

“Or what, huh? You disrespectful bitch. I am your Favourite!” Cesar shrieked. He looked to the side, towards his guards. “Throw them out!”

When he looked back down to Elio, his eyes were mocking, and he sniggered.

“Do you see what you’ve done? They call you ‘Elio’, now. They’ve lost all respect for you.”

“No.”

Elio didn’t know where he found the strength to respond. But he’d seen something happening behind Cesar, out of the corners of his eyes - guards, taking hold of Cesar’s guards, immobilising the Elders. Walking towards them. 

Renegade guards. 

And Elio knew he had all the strength he needed, right then. 

“No. They lost respect for you. They never had respect for you, to begin with.” 

Cesar snarled, part in surprise at Elio’s rebuke. But there was nothing he could do to stop Elio when the boy kicked his free leg up into him, his knee colliding with Cesar’s stomach and pushing him back. It took all of Elio’s energy, and he was certainly not going to be able to protect himself from a retaliation - but he didn’t have to. The Renegade Guards took hold of Cesar by his arms, pulled him back - held him down on the ground and tied up his limbs. When Elio looked up, he saw they had done the same with all the Elders and the small number of Guards that still wanted to defend them.

“Elio.” Kora’s voice. She was next to him, now, touching his arm. “Can you stand up?”

Elio took a breath. Set his jaw, and nodded. He was in pain, but luckily, he wasn’t bleeding, and so he pulled himself up to standing with Kora’s help. 

When he turned around, he saw Aska; Jules; all the other young Helpers; and hundreds of villagers.

All there; all witnesses to what had just happened.

Witnesses to the truth of Arcadia. 

When they brought Elio back to his lodging, he felt drained.

Orestes, Cesar and the Elders were now in chains in the prisons. 

Kora and Aska had brought him new clothes; brought him water and food. But Elio didn’t feel hungry.

“I want my son,” he asked, almost breathless. “I want my son, and Oliver. Where are they? Are they okay?”

“It’s alright,” Aska said. “Oliver was in one of the cells - the guards are freeing him. And the baby - we’ve called Anthea. She has him.”

Elio nodded. He felt so weak, but he needed to see them, whatever the cost.

“Elio!”

He let himself be hugged by Marzia, who’d just come in, and took a sigh of relief that she was okay, too.

Behind her, Anthea stood; carrying a bundle in her arms. 

Elio didn’t know why, but his first reaction at seeing his son was that of disbelief.

This baby - this small, defenceless human being, quietly asleep in Anthea’s arms, was his. He’d carried him, inside him. He’d born him. He was his son. 

And when Anthea reached out to place him in Elio’s arms, Elio was trembling; but he couldn’t stop the smile of relief, of joy, that appeared on his face. 

His son was okay. His son was here. His son was real.

“He looks so much like you,” Marzia said softly, standing next to Elio. “And like Oliver.”

“Where is Oliver?” Elio did not move his eyes from the baby’s face, from his eyes, closed in his sleep. He swallowed, and told himself to stay calm. “Where is he?”

“In the Main Hall. They were bringing him here. He’s - his leg is injured, so they need to be careful.”

Though Elio had been expecting something like that, his heart still gave a jump. He lifted a hand, brushed away the tears that had appeared, traitorous, in his eyes.

“He’s okay, though,” Marzia stroked a hand on his shoulder, her voice warm, trying to reassure. “He’s alright.”

“I want to go to him.” Elio held the baby tighter to his body. He breathed deep, and watched as Marzia nodded, getting ready to walk with him. 

Elio’s heart beat faster and faster as he walked back into the Main Hall. 

It looked like a different place. There was nothing left of what had happened just a few hours before. The Villagers had removed everything - the chairs, the tables, anything that belonged to the Elders and their ways. 

Orestes, Cesar and the others weren’t there either. Elio knew they had been imprisoned; they were going to get what they deserved, he was sure.

But right now, he didn’t care for them. Right now, all he could see was Oliver. 

Standing in the room, one of the Villagers next to him. His knee was bandaged; thankfully, he seemed okay. 

His eyes met Elio’s, and they were blue, and wide, and Elio felt like he hadn’t seen them in so long. His hands trembled holding the baby. He needed to be with Oliver. He wanted his arms around him. Around him, and their baby.

“Marzia. Please, could I be alone with Oliver.”

Marzia looked at him, then nodded, with a small smile. She let Elio walk to Oliver, and a moment later, the villagers had left, too.

“Oliver,” Elio murmured. “Oliver.”


	41. Chapter 41. Friends

Oliver’s eyes, blue, wide, were red rimmed, as he looked towards Elio.

“I told you to wait for me.”

His voice was quiet and steady, but Oliver looked like he could break down any moment now. His hands, hanging by his sides, trembled, almost imperceptibly. 

“I told you not to come, because they would try to hurt you.”

Elio looked up to Oliver. And his lips stretched into a gentle smile.

“Do you want to see your son?”

He watched Oliver’s face intensely. Saw the exact moment the facade broke; the instant Oliver let his emotions unchecked. 

A tear escaped his eye, running slowly down his cheekbone.

And Elio took another step towards him. The baby in his arms snuffled quietly; still asleep. 

Elio walked the last step, until he could look up, find Oliver’s eyes - and feel the warmth of him, his arms that lifted, hands touching Elio’s arms, so that they could hold the baby together. 

Elio still smiled, tenderly.

“I would have never let you do this alone. I would have never abandoned you, and my son.” He shook his head. “I don’t care what risks there were.”

Oliver smiled, even though his eyes were still bright. He looked down at the baby; the love instantly evident in his gaze.

“I want to call him Alexander,” Elio said. Voice soft, looking down at the baby, too. “Alexander Oliver.”

The baby whined softly, tiny hands moving, closing into impossibly perfect little fists. 

And Oliver’s arms tightened around him and Elio; he reached down, kissed Elio’s hair. 

Sighed in gratitude.

James had wanted to examine the baby, to make sure he was okay, and that nothing was wrong. 

After everything was over Elio had gone to him, to where he waited, still, by the car, to let him know, and James’s eyes had widened a little, then gained an expression of both fascination and nervousness when they walked back into the village together.

James checked Alexander, quickly but thoroughly. Found nothing worrying. The baby was healthy, and well.

And by then, the sun was setting. Oliver was exhausted, having hardly slept from the night before.

“You can stay here tonight, if you’d like,” Aska told him, when she came to visit them at the lodging. “You can rest. Leave tomorrow, with the light.”

Oliver had looked at James. Then at Elio. 

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Elio rushed to reassure. “Whatever you prefer.”

Oliver knew that the situation, now, was different. He knew it; but that didn’t mean he still didn’t feel uneasy, in fact downright uncomfortable, in that village. Orestes, Cesar and the Elders were chained and in prison, but he could still imagine them getting out somehow, going after Elio and the baby again.

He couldn’t do this. He shook his head no.

“No, thanks. I would like to go home.”

Home was, of course, James’s house, for now. He planned to have a conversation with Elio really soon, about where they would live permanently. 

And that night, even with exhaustion gnawing at his bones, Oliver took Elio aside, while Alexander slept in the little cot they’d made for him in the guest room.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something,” he started, after they both sat down on the couch of James’s living room, facing each other. “I’ve been thinking about - the future.”

He felt a little awkward doing this speech, but Elio’s eyes remained wide and trusting, his throat working to swallow as he processed the words. He didn’t say anything, and so Oliver continued.

“We can’t stay here, of course, and I... I’d really like to go back to New York.”

“Oh.” Elio looked at him carefully.

“Elio, I... I know it’s been so traumatic for you, recently. So many changes. I can’t even begin to understand what this means for you. But - what I’m saying is that I’d love to - take you and Alexander back to New York with me.”

He’d done it. He’d gotten the words out. 

Oliver held Elio’s eyes for a long moment, trying to read him. Elio didn’t respond, not at first; he pressed his lips, and took a deep breath, and then he was trembling, and his eyes were bright.

“Oliver, I...”

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” Oliver rushed to say. He took Elio’s hand in his. “Take your time, I - I’m not forcing you into anything.”

But Elio just smiled, wide.

“Are you - are you crazy??” He brushed away the wetness in his eyes hastily with the palm of his free hand. “Oliver, going to New York has been my dream since - since I can remember. And when you came to Arcadia and - and told me about it, I - I dreamt about it every night. About New York, and you.”

His voice trembled a little too, and his cheeks were flushed. Oliver felt like he could almost hear Elio’s heartbeat - and his own mirrored his, for sure.

“Okay, so are you saying-“

“I’m saying I’ll go with you!” Elio’s smile shone, then, like the light of a rare star. “I’m saying Alexander and I will go with you. Of course we will.”

“Oh,” Oliver smiled, and breathed, feeling like he hadn’t taken in air since his speech had begun. “Oh fuck. Sorry, I - I’m so happy.” He shook his head. “So relieved, and happy.”

Elio squeezed his hand. 

“I’m happy, too. But can we pass by the village, before we go? I want to check on them. Check on Marzia, tell her. Tell her where I’m going.”

“Of course, of course,” Oliver nodded. “In fact, maybe... maybe she’ll want to come, too? We can help her find her feet. My apartment there is big enough and she can stay while she figures it out, if she - if she’d like.”

Elio nodded. His eyes still bright, hands still in Oliver’s hands. “I’ll ask her.”

They returned to the village two days later. 

Alexander in a baby carrier, Oliver held him against his chest as Elio stood, just after the entrance, looking around, taking everything in one last time. 

He had very few belongings he needed to take with him - a couple of books he loved, a shirt that Marzia had sewn for him when they were children - but, before speaking to Marzia, he stopped to meet Aska in the Main Hall. Oliver sat with them; listened, as Aska talked, with pride in her voice. 

“We’ve created a new council, made up of us women - Kora, Jules, Anthea and myself, plus a group of young Helpers, who you know very well, Elio,” Aska said. “We will change the rules and instaurate new laws. A new government. We want it to be fair and just.” She stopped for a moment, and reached out, touched Elio’s hand with hers. “You inspired us, Elio. You made us realise it was possible.”

Elio could not speak. But he smiled, his heart bursting with relief and joy. 

“We will make sure everyone is looked after and we will do everything we can to make sure that the dogmas they instilled in us are removed and forgotten, as much as possible. We will teach our children what’s good and what’s bad, we will teach them science and politics. Gender awareness, equality. And history, real history.”

“Aska. I’m so glad. And I’m really proud.”

“We’re proud of you, Elio,” Aska smiled again. “And we’re so glad that you, and Oliver, and little Alexander are healthy. And happy.”

Elio smiled again. Then, his face turned serious for a moment.

“What about - them? Orestes, Cesar. The lot.”

“They’re in the prisons. All separate from each other. All on their own.” Aska’s face hardened, too. “We debated what to do. We thought you maybe - wanted to decided their fate. You have the right to.” She looked to Oliver for a moment, then back to Elio, hesitant. 

“They were drugging you, darling. They were - putting opium in your teas, in your drinks. Some of those powders, we found, caused psychosis, on various levels.” She squeezed her hand again with hers. “There are rooms which were kept secret and barred from us, they had drugs, and - documents, logs, diaries, to keep track of everyone, and of you, especially.”

She looked thoroughly broken, and sad. And guilty; as if she felt responsible, as a villager, for not having had Elio’s back, like he had theirs.

Elio swallowed, his eyebrows pinched together in a frown. He sighed; turned to look at Oliver, whose jaw was set.

“It was my fault, too. I let them get into my head.” He sighed again. “I think - I think you should make your own decision, on what to do with them. As a community.They should be punished, and if you want to keep them in the prisons for the rest of their lives, you should do it. Perhaps it’ll hit them harder that way. Just remember that they’re dangerous.”

Aska nodded. Smiled. There was a look of gratitude in her eyes; and Elio smiled, too. His head was in turmoil, and of course, talking about the Elders awakened past hurts and traumas that still almost stopped him breathing properly, out of anxiety.

But the village was healing; and he would heal, too. 

Marzia hugged him for a good, long while, after he told her his news. 

Alone in the Second Hall, Marzia’s eyes shining with tears, Elio held her hands in his.

“It’s your decision, of course, but, if you wanted to come with us, we’d be happy for you to. We’d help you find your feet in the City. I’d,” he stopped, looked down, and then up, cheeks flushed in emotion. “I’d be happy to have you there with me.”

“I know,” Marzia nodded, and her smile widened. “I know, and I’m so - touched. And thankful. But... I think I’ll stay. Here, with the Villagers. Help them rebuild. I feel like I have to and - and I would like to see this new world that’s starting, in Arcadia.”

Elio nodded. 

He understood. Marzia was born there. She’d dreamed of a different future for Arcadia for as long as she could remember, and now, it looked like it could become a reality. 

He was going to miss her, though.

“Friends?”

Marzia squeezed his fingers with hers, smiled, her huge eyes bright.

Elio smiled, too. Holding back his own tears. “Forever?”

“Forever.”

Marzia stepped closer, and they hugged,, holding on to each other for as long as they could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it, we’re nearly there! The next chapter will be the epilogue. 
> 
> Thanks so much for following me in this journey! I hope you enjoyed reading, and I hope you’ll leave me a comment for this chapter too. Xx


	42. Chapter 42. Epilogue

_Two months later _

“I’m home!” Oliver called. He was carrying shopping bags on both hands, and he placed one on the floor as he turned to close the door behind him. 

He heard footsteps approaching; and when he turned back around, he saw Elio, coming towards him from the bedroom. He was still in his pijamas, and his curly hair was knotted and sticking out every which way. It made Oliver smile.

“Hey,” Elio greeted back, and stepped up on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Missed you.”

“Got everything,” Oliver grabbed the bag, and carried both in the kitchen. Elio had given him a list of things he’d like - he’d been trying new foods and recipes since they’d come to New York, and was already developing strong preferences and favourites.

“Oh! My peanut butter!” Elio said, his eyes wide - and it never stopped warming Oliver’s heart to see him so joyous about such small things.

“I’m sorry I slept so much,” Elio reached out with his hand, stroked the hair on Oliver’s nape as the older man put the shopping away. “Next time, Alexander and I will come with you.”

Oliver chuckled. “Not a problem. You were tired. After... last night.”

He saw Elio laugh quietly, shyly, too; but then the boy closed the distance between them, brought his other arm around him, and joined their mouths in a tender kiss.

The memory of the night before was still etched in their minds, of course. It was the first time they’d been intimate - though not all the way, Oliver had still been nervous about that - after everything. After Elio giving birth, after his injuries had healed enough. 

After their move to New York, to a new life.

It had been two months since they left Arcadia, two happy months. 

Elio and Alexander were settling in well in Oliver’s apartment. Alexander had his own little room; and lots of toys, clothes, and attention. They doted on him to no end. Oliver had resumed work - freelancing now for a publishing company, and sometimes for various newspapers. He still dreamt of writing his own book, but for now, he was busy, and he was happy. They went for walks in Central Park, Elio walking with Alexander in his new, shiny stroller, went out to restaurants - Elio tried Chinese and Indian food for the first time - and Oliver took Elio shopping downtown. The boy had a real interest in clothing and fashion, and a real talent for it. 

They planned on going to a cinema soon - another one of Elio’s dreams - but so far, they hadn’t felt at ease calling a babysitter for Alexander. 

Soon, though.

They’d talked about what to say to friends and acquaintances about their situation. Oliver had no intention of lying - Elio was his partner, and he wasn’t going to hide that - however, Elio’s situation was different. He’d given birth to Alexander; and he still wanted to keep that to himself. Didn’t want to arouse the wrong kind of interest. 

And Oliver wanted to support that. For now, they hadn’t had to explain - but soon they would have to, and they planned on saying that Alexander was Elio’s son, with somebody else, and that Oliver had decided to adopt him. Yes, of course Oliver wasn’t happy about this compromise - Alexander was his son, completely and absolutely his. But his need to protect Elio was greater than his own personal pride and insecurity. They needed to be careful. And one day, they’d surely figure out a way to explain the truth. 

Also because they didn’t rule out having more children, in the future. Oliver was conscious of what James had told him, that there was a chance that Elio wouldn’t be able to have more children, and he’d talked to the boy and explained. They were aware. But they still harboured hope. Elio had just turned eighteen, so they planned on waiting at least a couple of years before trying again. And then they were going to see if the future had another child in store for them.

For now, they were happy.

“I’ve just put Alex down for a nap,” Elio murmured softly. He looked from Oliver’s mouth to his eyes, his own half-lidded, sultry. “Come to bed with me?”

Oliver drew Elio flush to his own body, held him by the waist as he looked into his eyes, too. 

“Last night not enough?” he teased gently.

“Mmh.” Elio stroked Oliver’s hair off his forehead. “I want more.”

They kissed again. Slowly, deeply. 

Then Elio took Oliver’s hand, and led him to the bedroom. 

They’d been kissing for a while, already half-undressed, by the time Oliver took Elio’s face into his hands and made him open his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, serious.

Elio nodded without hesitation.

“Yes. Please. It feels like forever - and I need you. I want you.”

Oliver debated for one moment whether to insist - but when Elio kissed him again, pushing into his mouth, moaning softly against him, he found he was powerless to resist.

They tumbled down on the bed together, and divested each other of their remaining clothes, until they were skin on skin. 

Oliver already lying between Elio’s legs, his fingers stroking, touching, exploring there. Just the time to grab a condom; two fingers of the other hand gently pushed into Elio’s mouth, the boy sucking on them, licking them, between his sinful full lips - and he knew exactly what he was doing, making Oliver lose his mind.

It felt to him as if they were one body, when he guided himself into Elio, and the boy breathed deep and moaned in response to the penetration, a sound of relief, and want, and desire. Oliver held inside him when he’d pushed as deep as he could; his hands on either side of Elio’s head, he stayed still, and looked into Elio’s eyes.

“I love you,” he murmured softly. “I love you more than my own life.”

“I love you too.” Elio’s fingers were soft on Oliver’s cheek. “I’m so in love with you. And I’m so happy.”

The next day, Oliver woke. Kissed his sleeping lover’s hair; went to check on their son, stroked his little face gently, careful not to wake him up.

Then he made himself a coffee. Walked to the living room, to his desk, where his typewriter was. 

Sat down, and began to write. 

  
  


‘_There once was a village, tucked away in the mountains. A beautiful, idyllic place, but ruled by fear, violence, deceit and hate. _

_The people strived for change; fought for it, until it happened. Until they won. _

_This is the story of a place called Arcadia.’ _

  
  


The End 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is. We are at the end!
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you who’ve followed this story, and waited patiently for new updates when my inspiration was lagging.   
And to those who’ve supported me and left comments and cheered me on - you know who you are - THANK YOU. You are wonderful. 
> 
> To all - It would mean a lot to me if you could leave me a comment since this is the last chapter of this crazy story. I’ve enjoyed writing it but even more I’ve enjoyed reading your thoughts and your reactions. 
> 
> Love to you xx

**Author's Note:**

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> Love from me xx


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